Heralds
by Moofox
Summary: They existed before us. They will exist after us. They had many names. Mothra, Rodan, Gamera, Godzilla. The Interloper Zion thought he had killed them all. He thought wrong. Every god needs a herald to foretell their coming. Mothra has chosen carefully. What is an entity, to a god?
1. Every Time a Taylor Sings (1-1)

"Mommy, why is there a door in our basement?"

"It's supposed to be opened, Taylor. Why don't you take a peek?"

Doors were meant to be opened. They were the thresholds between places, the liminal line between the safe and familiar and the great unknown. A little girl who would one day be something special knew better than to open strange ones in her basement. Especially doors that hadn't been there the day before. Her mommy had told her it was a dangerous business, going through doors. One moment you're safe and sound in the familiar, and the next you didn't know where you would end up. So, she did the sensible thing and shook her head as she clutched a little tighter to her friend, Emma, who had followed them down into the basement.

"No? Oh, why not?"

Taylor Hebert looked at her mother like she had turned into that big scary lizard she sometimes researched. She looked back to the door, which was hidden behind one of the bookcases that had been moved back to make room. It was big, and funny-looking, and Taylor knew for a fact that the wall it was against was supposed to be up against the backyard and they didn't have a basement in the backyard. "Stranger danger, mommy!"

Beat. An opening to say something. Another beat. "Well, scribble me out. The lessons are sticking. Well, I tell you what, how about I go first—"

"Noooo! I'm gonna get daddy!"

Annette Hebert was about to retort in frustration, possibly digging herself deeper, when a deep trill echoed up from below.

"What was that?"

"I dunno, but it sounded—"

"Big?" Annette crouched down besides the two girls, wincing as her knees protested the angle they were at. "She is. And she's cuter than you are."

"Nuh-uh, mommy. Yous said I was the cutest of them all!"

Annette reached out and started tussling the two girls hair, making them giggle and shriek as their heads were adjusted until it looked like they had big bird's nests on top. "Well, I'm just an English teacher. Turns out, I made a statistical error. You want to see her? I've been looking for her for a long time. She's a bit young, and a bit big to fit up the stairs. But, trust me, she's pretty harmless."

There was another trill from somewhere deep below; softer, curious, welcoming. The two girls turned back and forth between looking at the door and looking at Taylor's mother, who smiled brightly. Brighter, and wider than either could remember. Neither was all that old, barely between five and six, but they both had noticed Mrs. Hebert slowly getting more tired. Her smiles used to be those that they would put on when they were trying to hide from the adults that they were tired and upset.

"She's not from around here. She needs some friends, too, my little owl."

Taylor perked up at that declaration, smiling slightly. She liked making new friends, they always wanted to find out what she was like, and play new games. They had funny homes, some of them new, some of them old, some were blue and others were cold. The little wordplay perked her up as she thought. Emma's house made her play with her words, and they were best friends now.

"Okay, mommy. I don' wanna make her sad," Taylor whispered quietly as she held Emma tighter to her. She couldn't imagine what it would be like to not have any friends, to be all alone in the world and afraid.

Annette nodded, smiling a little wider as she pulled on the rickety door and opened it wide. "Come on, then. You want a perch? It's a bit of a walk down." She held her arms out for the two girls, who climbed on. A grunt of strain struggled past her facade of cheerfulness as she struggled beneath her precious girl and her adorable partner in crime. "Oof. Boy, you two are getting pretty heavy. In another year, you'll be too big for me to carry."

"Noooooo~!" Taylor squealed, squeezing into her mother tighter. "You can't stop carrying me, mommy!"

Annette wibbled and wobbled as she started down the slowly sloping staircase into the bowels of the earth, glad for the gentle angle and shallow steps. She had spent years figuring out the right point in town to buy a house on, and another few years figuring out how to create the tunnel to her destination, only for it to connect from the other side. Her smile faltered while in the relatively dimly lit tunnel, hidden from her daughter as she quietly spoke. "Taylor, honey, all things end in time. Maybe someday you and Emma won't be there for each other, or be friends anymore—"

"No!" "Never!"

Annette plowed over their objections, continuing on calmly, "Someday, I won't be there for you either. Or maybe it'll be your daddy. He certainly creaks like it."

Emma giggled a bit, "Mister Hebert makes funny noises with his knees."

"And that's why you don't jump out of perfectly good airplanes, kids." Taylor and Emma gasped, clapping their hands over their mouths in shock. Neither had been told about the couple's—fascinating—past. Been given tidbits, certainly, but having a good parental mythology never hurt. Maybe they'd think he was some super-awesome paratrooper who had jumped onto a Titan.

From below, a worried trill echoed up. Much closer. The tunnel was strange like that. The more burdened you were, the shorter it was. Annette couldn't tell how deep it really was. The first time, it had seemed to be miles and miles and miles, far enough that she had almost turned back if it wasn't for the nagging feeling that it had been a test of worthiness. The soft blue glow she had seen then was beginning to glimmer from around the corner of the tunnel, flickering and pulsing in time with a heart beat.

"Mommy, what's that?" Taylor quietly asked as she clutched tighter to her mother in renewed worry.

Annette rubbed the side of her head against the top of her daughter's, then leaned and did the same thing to Emma as she spoke, reverently explaining just a bit more, "It's the lonely little girl we're meeting, Tay. She glows like that as a part of herself."

Emma oooh'd at that revelation and sat back, straighter, in Annette's arms as she started to squirm, "Can I glow? I wanna learn how to glow."

Annette started smiling again, putting on a brave face for them both. She was fairly certain—no, she knew it was one of the ancient figures she had been so fascinated with all her life. She giggled as she blew a raspberry into Emma's neck and make the little girl squirm and squeal, then explained childishly, "No, silly, you can't just learn how to glow. You have to be specially blessed to."

A coo rose up from the depths, loudly this time, reverberating as they approached the landing. Proud and happy it was, from a young creature inordinately pleased with it's own majesty. She'd learn, some day. She had just hatched when Annette had finally found the way to this sacred cavern. The girls gasped as they all cleared the strangely sculpted archway into the wide and vaulted space. Annette knew, at least somewhere in the logical portion of her mind, that the space couldn't fit beneath Brockton Bay. Miles across, and with a roof nearly a mile high from the shimmering waters lit by some eldritch and unknown luminescence below to the spiky coliseum of a ceiling above. In her heart, she knew that it had to be inside the aquifer that was part of the fame of the bay, that there was no way that such a space wouldn't instantly collapse in on itself from the weight of the city above. In the treasonous little corner of her mind that housed the little Annette Hebert who was a cynic and a pessimist, who knew that there were signs that everything was on the way to collapse, there was a litany of thought that insisted it was all a hallucination, that it was all in her head and that she was likely putting her daughter in danger.

As the trills and coos grew louder, and the subject she had come down into the sacred caverns to find approached, there was another voice that slowly grew louder and drowned the others out. A voice that said that the old stories were real, that the light of the world and the hope for the future had revealed herself to one little old English professor. A voice that said that miracles could exist, that praised the heavens, and insisted that was hope for her daughter's future. A voice that chanted, and cried, and prayed that others could see what she could, and hoped that there really were unexplainable things.

"Mommy?"

Rocks clattered as a massive glowing blue caterpillar crawled over the edge of the landing, scratching and scraping as it—she—scrambled and shimmied herself up. She was getting fat and plump off of whatever it was she ate down there. The girls squeaked as their guest trilled loudly and raised her front legs, waving them in the air.

"Mooooommmy!"

"It's alright, Taylor! She's the friend I was talking about!"

"But—"

"A caterpillar, I know. But one day, she'll be a beautiful moth. She's not going to get you," Annette reassured as she gently bounced the two five year olds as the caterpillar realized the two were afraid and dejectedly cooed while laying down. "See, now she's sad."

"I dun wanna make someone sad."

"It's alright. Would you like to say hello? It'll perk her right up again."

"Wha'shername?"

"Mothra, Taylor. Her name… is **Mothra**."


	2. Titans (1-2)

**Titan**: (Noun) A term referring to various gigafauna individuals. Accepted now as extinct, these creatures roamed the Earth for millions, or perhaps hundreds of millions of years in sporadic bursts. Sustained by unknown processes, these creatures had a lifespan that was effectively indefinite, until the burst of activity in 1985 resulted in Scion killing many of them. It is unknown whether or not he finished the job at this time. There were many such creatures in the world, from the titanic moth Mothra, to the creature of Greek myth Scylla, and many others. Their size, and capabilities led to many in the ancient world worshiping them, or at least the stories told of them, as gods. To this day, there still exist a few cults dedicated to Mothra in particular as a patron goddess of light and life in the far east, though after the sinking of Kyushu by Leviathan and the rise of the current Chinese government has led to these cults effectively going extinct. In the 1940s, after early encounters with the 'modern' activity period of the titans, the US government formed the now-defunct organization, Monarch, to oversee the analysis and tracking of these gigafauna species. After the formation of the Protectorate and PRT, the organization was folded into the two organizations as a centralization of para-activities. It is believed that the organizations may have been involved with the extermination in some manner, though it remains unclear.

* * *

To most people, when confronted with a caterpillar the size of a grizzly bear—_Ursus actros horribilis_, to be precisely horrifying—the correct response is to scream in terror and run like the Nine themselves are after them. An arthropod of unusual size is usually a sign of biotinker work, likely carnivorous, and almost certainly armed with some manner of providing horrible death. Most people.

For Taylor Hebert, precocious five year old going on six, seeing a moderately fuzzy caterpillar big enough to hug her like her precious Slightly Moist Owlette up in her bed; the correct response once it is 'established' that the Arthropod of Unusual Size is lonely and in need of a friend is to wriggle free of her mother's grasp and go and hug the thing. So she did, squealing all the way as she stumbled across the unfamiliar stony floor until she could launch herself into Mothra's side. Unused to the reversal of being attacked by a human of similarly unusual size from her perspective, Mothra discovered that her only real response available would be to squeal in surprise and flop onto her side, flailing her legs as she was warmly hugged.

"Tay!" Emma cried as she struggled in Annette's arms until she was let down herself. "Don't eat her!"

Mothra's thoughts are indecipherable, wrapped up in literal millennia of shared memories in every single one of her genes and further tinted by the rather difficult-to-overcome issue of her being a giant space moth larva. If one could somehow construct a device to be able to perfectly translate the latest reincarnation of a giant space moth larva and furthermore find some manner in which to convert it into the doggerel known as 'Northeastern Modern American,' one might find that her rather rapid thoughts at that moment went somewhat along lines such as: "**_HELP ME, YOU! I'M BEING TICKLED AND SNUGGLED BY TWO MINIATURE HUMANS OF UNUSUAL SIZE! STOP LAUGHING, THESE ARE NOT AUTHORIZED SNUGGLES! I DON'T CARE IF THEY ARE JUST RIGHT FOR ME, GET THEM OFF BEFORE I WEB! AUGH! THAT'S TICKLISH, NOT THERE!_**" Alas, no such device exists, and while Mothra frantically wriggled on her back under assault from two terrible preschoolers her cries remained an enigma to the uninitiated; a counterpoint cacophony of coos, squeaks, squawks, and trills set to the time of a young Taylor clambered and cuddled atop the vulnerable 'little' larva's belly.

"Emy! We gotta hug her sads away! Hug her head!"

To a cultist of the moth queen, seeing the once and future queen of the titans reduced to a helplessly wriggling, giggling mess by a pair of five year olds was an offense to her sensibilities. On the other hand, the satirist buried deep down beneath her grumpy 'old' English professor persona couldn't help but take notes. It was never too early to take on embarrassing moments for a future scrapbook. And the thought of a scrap-book for a 50-yard tall moth was something she certainly hadn't been expecting even a few weeks ago.

"Tay! She's looking right at-aaaaah! Help!"

Annette's attention turned back to Emma, who was helplessly dangling from Mothra's head, feet innocently kicking against the relatively soft flesh there as she scrabbled for purchase to avoid falling back down to the ground. Whoops. Right, baby giant space moth is still a giant baby space moth. Oh, woe to her perfect momademic score, slain in jest by failing to watch her friend's kid. Well, she better go save Emma. "Hang on, Emma."

Just as the little girl was sliding off, she found herself rising up again as her entirely unhelpful 'adult' supervision scooped her up off of Mothra's face, growling as she flopped Emma onto her side in-arm. "Guess who else needs a dose of anti-sads!?"

Sensing the snozzleling to her tummy about to occur, Emma started to curl up on herself, giggling as she protested loudly, "Nooooo! I don' wanna be—" Well, she was protesting loudly. Then Annette buried her face into Emma's belly button while she made mock growls, then blew a raspberry into the hapless little button of a girl. "Tay! Help, help, I'm bein' pressed!"

"Oppressed, dear. Now, where was I? Oh, right, aaahhhhhhh—" And back to raspberrying it was.

Taylor fell off her living, wriggling ginormous cuddle-monster as Mothra rolled over. Bouncing gently—she was 'made of rubber' as her mommy kept telling her—she wobbled back to her feet and rawr-ed squeakily as she charged her mother and tackled into the irresponsible adult's legs. "I'mma getchya!"

Rocking back and forth, Annette pretended that Taylor had indeed 'gotten' her. "Arg! No! I am gotten! Cut down in my prime, bereft of my daily dose of teasing! Arg! I perish, nevermore!" Drama was good for the girls. Carefully, telegraphed well in advance, she put her fall training into action and flopped onto her back like a great old tree. Emma wriggled free of her grasp as she mock spluttered, coughed, and wheezed. "I die! Blarg!" 'Death' wriggle, and then flop limp.

"Oh no! We killed her! Quick! Mothra, c'mere and help us cuddle her!" Taylor rallied as she tottered around the splayed-out form of her mother to flop over Annette's chest heavily, getting an 'oof' of strain.

Annette, though, was more concerned with getting up before her favorite new baby giant space moth decided to flop all over her. "Ack! No! Not the—"

With a whoomph of impact, Mothra flopped over onto her side just away from the trio of girls—just because one was older hardly meant she was any more mature. Flex, curl, flex, curl, the slightly fuzzy larva inched up besides them until Annette could lean up and then lean back to lay against the glowing bulk. Warmth pulsed from behind, in time with the slightly visible beat of the caterpillar's heart. Annette hadn't ever been pressed up against the infant god so much before, even when she had first hugged her a week prior. It was warm… safe. The feeling of everything being alright bubbled giddily in her heart as she considered that they were likely in one of the safest places on the planet now, the rough-shod temple of the infant god-queen newborn once more to rise again. Mothra cooed to them as she squirmed and adjusted, until she could lay her head flat against the ground right-side up on their right to look at the trio with one eye.

They rested there, in the warming silence, looking out over the vast glimmering pool of water in the impossible cavern. The patterns played across the jagged surface of the ceiling in time with the lapping of the uneven water below. Pulsed in and out in time with the deep breathing of Mothra. The quartet might have been able to just rest there in silence for a while, enjoying the peace that permeated the space. But, the average age of the group was about ten, so it lasted for all of about five minutes and was pushing two hyped-up girls quite a bit to go that long without stimulus.

"Missus Hebert?"

"Yes, Emma?"

"Where did Miss Mothra come from? I don't rec-recomeck—don' 'member big butterflies eating buildings in town before."

Annette winced, starting up, "Mothra's a nice baby giant space moth, she doesn't eat buildings and neither did her mother."

"Okay. Buh, where'd she come from?"

"I have no idea!"

Taylor bubbled up again, bumping her mother a couple of times as she tried to wriggle around and look up at her. "But you know ever'a'thing, mommy! Daddy says you have a dock-term-nate in bein' a know-it-all!"

Annette slightly pouted as she considered Danny. "Of course he would," she playfully grumbled before pulling Taylor in closer with an arm. "I don't know, honey-buncher. I mean, I know who her mother was… I think. It might have been another. But how she got down here, or ended up in the Bay instead of her homeland… I don't know. I don't think I can know."

"But daddy says we can know everything, Missus Hebert!" Emma quietly complained.

Annette took a deep breath in exasperation at Alan Barnes filling his daughter's head with dangerous nonsense. Took the moment to find the right tone, the right words, before she continued. "Emma, some things can be known. Gravity, up, down, light, darkness. Sound, trees, the gooey bits in your twinkies. So much of the world is explainable." She took a deep breath, preparing to speak.

Mothra crooned to them, deeply vibrating the pile of girlish hopes and dreams.

"And some things, you can't Emma. Some things are bigger than we will ever know in this life. Mothra here is one of those things. She has… powers."

"Like… Harmsmaster!"

"Armsmaster, Taylor. I think it's a silly name, but… No, not like him. He's a parahuman, honey. Mothra is… something else. Her family was old before the Pyramid's stone was made. They were here before people were a thing," Annette paused as Taylor and Emma gasped in wonder at that, then picked back up, "and with any luck, they will be here long after you and I are gone. They can give people things they need, make life better, heal the world. They're not like Parahumans. They're so much more, and the world is so much poorer for Scion doing what he did."

Taylor nodded in the way she did when her mother had completely and totally blown her tiny little five year old mind, then looked up at her mother and inquired again. "Okay. But, why is she here mommy?"

"Because she needs to hide from the bad man who wants to hurt her and kill her like he killed her mommy and all her family's friends."

The terrible 'twins' choked up, looking at her from where they were cuddled into both sides of her. Tears welled in their eyes as they thought about what she had just said. They had only just been introduced to the concept of murder, of killing and hurting in the latest batch of media that she had sat down with Danny and Alan to approve of. To hear that a victim of what had previously been just a scary thing the bad men did on TV was curled around them broke them slightly. Mothra trilled quietly, slowly, almost sadly as she sensed the downturn in emotions, brightening against them.

"But… why?"

"Because Scion… I don't know if he thought they were big scary monsters like the Endbringers and didn't know better, or if he really is a bad man."

"She's… all alone? Nobody for her, Missus Hebert?"

"Maybe. I don't know. There were others, once. Maybe one day, when Mothra here is grown up to be big and strong for us, there will be again."

"Who?!" "Who, mommy!?"

"The Mothras…"

_A flash—a younger her, no… Taylor grown up somehow, cuddling up against the foreleg of a fully grown Mothra. Snow swirled around them, backlit by golden noon-light far brighter than it should be as Taylor cried into the chitinous limb to the mournful cry of the great bringer of hope. Others, shadowy and indistinct, some close and others far. But… she wasn't there. She should be there, so should Emma, but neither of them were._

And then she was back in the present. Was… that… it couldn't be.

Taylor shook her worriedly, looking up at her as if she had had a stroke. "Mommy! You stopped! You were crying!"

Annette shook her head, shaking the strange vision from it. It'd make the girls even more confused if she tried to stop now and record the—was it just her imagination, or was it a prophecy? "Right, sorry. Rodan…"

_Another flash—dark, nighttime. A terrible, horrifying nor'easter driving down rain and sleet and snow into a half-flooded street as lightning flashed above. Horror struck her as she realized she was looking up at Leviathan—the damned false titan and destroyer from the seas—as it stood above her in the dark. A piercing cry from behind her, shrieking like a trumpet playing for it's life, drew her gaze away. Fire burst from the skies in the confusion, the clouds bursting open as the titanic pterosaur emerged in a corona of vengeful flame. But, he was different, wrong somehow. In her heart, she knew that Rodan was one who was definitively killed by Scion, yet here he was, large as ever. Wreathed in metal scales glowing with heat, and… almost like stubby arms beneath his wings as he looked at her with recognition and intelligence…_

She was back again, breathing heavily as she caught back up to her surroundings. "Gamera…"

_The day—mountains cold and misty, snow drifting down from the heavens gently. Emma—looking miserable and dejected in totality. An air of desperation and pleading to the gods surrounds the teenager as she sinks to her knees, unable to go on. She's torn-up, muddied and a broken person as she screams out the death-knell of her soul. And something answers. She was all alone, rejected and heart-broken. And then from the mountain before her emerges a great and terrible being, shell pushing up through the broken mountain-side. Rocks fall and snow slides, breaking around her without ever touching her as a tremendous being rises up to judge her. Two brilliant, piercing eyes meet her gaze. Judging, yes, but forgiving and accepting._

Annette comes back once more, shaken by the experience of the third vision. What would Emma do? What had… no. She took a deep breath, steeling herself for the fourth. She was afraid. It was never wise to invoke the name of The King. Yet, she knew somehow that she must. "Gojira."

_Night, once more. Driving rain, and a freezing wind from off-shore. Horror strikes her as she wonders what would bring the King of the Titans to the Bay itself, but in her heart she knows that it is indeed exactly where the vision is. Lightning flashes once more, revealing a crowd all around her. Armsmaster, Miss Militia, a heavier-set uniformed woman looking like she had been through fifteen kinds of hell and ready to take more, the Kaiser scowling at others, and so many more that she couldn't recognize. And more… Mothra, atop the Medhall building, glaring at something through the biting rain. The strange Rodan, staring at the same place from where he perches in the docks—docks only barely recognizable. And the figure in a white robe, a silk robe, who stands firm against the elements and the gazes of all the others._

"_He Comes." The familiar voice—so achingly familiar—intones as lightning flashes off-shore._

_She sees it standing far too close. Falsehood at hand. She sees him, looming in the night at the mouth of the bay, a figure last seen nearly mortally wounded by Scion's golden beams of 'fuck you.' Lightning flashes behind him as he shifts. A haunting, echoing roar trumpets, sounding the call to battle. Her heart trembles at the rage behind it, and at the answering cries from every gathered being in the bay. A thrum begins. Terrible, jagged plates begin to light up one by one in actinic blue, until at last a beam of blinding blue-white light pierces into the night and blows a hole in the terrible skies. She sees a false titan. And she sees its FEAR, and knows it to be good._

And it was over, the vision fading as she panted for breath. Mothra curiously looked up at her, intelligence far beyond what a caterpillar of any size should possess piercing her weakened defenses in a moment. A presence fills her, warm and inviting; before pulling away once more.

"Mommy? Are you okay?"

"I will be. We will be. Everything is going to be alright, Taylor. It might take a while, but we will make it right. This, I promise you," Annette Hebert heralded. Thus was spoken the first warning of the new age.


	3. MONARCH (1-3)

**Monarch**: (Noun: Organization) An ill-understood collection of cult groups, ill-funded research think-tanks, mercenaries, and others who worship and study the _former_ (_Citation Needed_) Titans (_Article Link_). Originally a well-organized joint United State/United Nations task force formed in the wake of World War 2 to study the first known Titan encounters, the organization rejected the orders to stand down following it's forced disbandment and reformed outside of any national jurisdiction. Since it's reformation in 1986, the organization has undergone several cycles of semi-collapse and reformation, with the latest taking place in 2005 after the Miracle of Newfoundland.

The current head of the organization is Kenta Serizawa (_Citation Needed_), grandson of famed Dr. Ishiro Serizawa who pioneered many of the discoveries regarding the titan's physiology and habits before their die-off. Under his leadership, centered in the New Hampshire port city of Brockton Bay, it has significantly stepped up as a semi-legitimate force for esoteric research and other practices and is one of the primary groups studying the unusual ecosystem events surrounding the regional city. Primarily, the Monarch organization produces revenue through reverse-engineering the ecosystem in direct competition with the Medhall Corporation, with side avenues in providing armed escort for Titan research expeditions, security patrols against Leviathan off the Atlantic Coast of North America, and other actions.

Other notables include Dr. Annette Hebert, known to be Head of Outreach Operations; Dragon, Director of Parahuman Operations; …..

©Wikipedia, January 2009

* * *

Danny Hebert was a man who was becoming known for being unflappable in the face of some really weird… things. Facing down a bunch of apocalypse-worshippers with a crowbar and a truck? Sure. Wooing his childhood sweetheart from the murderous gang of man-haters with a strange wig, a book of bad poetry, and a deathwish? Utterly mad, but sure. Marrying her, having a beautiful child, and dealing with the fact that her delightful brand of crazy was genetic? Okay, but he was really having to draw the line at Taylor declaring herself the 'Great Moth Priest' and buzzing his head with a feather duster.

Which was, as a start, just the tip of the strange he was having to face down at the moment. Annette had been busy in the basement on some cataloging project for the last month, then had taken Taylor and Emma down there last week for a few hours to look at something. Probably showing off some of Annette's old memorabilia from her days in Lustrum's cult—they had been fascinated with the 'feminist kaiju.' It'd explain the Moth Priest fascination from Taylor. But, then Annette had started digging up her old Japanese contact book.

So, there he sat on the back patio, as the dark of a cold February night closed in on the bay and the snow lightly fell from the cloudy skies. Annette, the precious love of his life, was starting to go back down a dark path. Maybe. Or maybe she was just going through her old life and innocently sharing with Taylor things that she thought their daughter might find amusing. Blowing things out of proportion did run in his family, after all. Annette always was the nice sunny little cloud in his life, raining on his dark and somber self-reflection and washing him out of his self-doubt.

He looked out over the garden, quietly looking at the half-buried beds for the flowers they had spent the winter putting in for spring. Tulips and perennials. A bit to burn brightly in the spring and summer, and a bit to smolder on slowly into a raging flame of color year after year in the future. That's what they had agreed to. Infant tomato plants in little itty-bitty greenhouses on the porch waiting for the Easter Frosts to pass. The apple tree that would be the centerpiece of the garden in the back corner, slumbering through the winter; like he should be slumbering in bed, next to his wife. It was getting late, and the full moon was rising higher and higher into the skies.

"Honey! Have you seen my orange and blue contact book? It's not in any of my old boxes." Annette hollered down to him, leaning out of their bedroom window over the little shingled awning covering the back of the patio.

Orange and blue… That sounded familiar to him. "The one with the embossed miniature Godzilla and Mothra on it?" He could swear that it sounded familiar to him somehow.

"That's the one! It's the one with Mrs. Serizawa's contact info. I'm trying to get in touch with her again after I found… uh, some stuff at the university." There was a creak up above, sounding like she was leaning further out.

"Old Lady Monarch?"

"That's her."

"Didn't she, uh, die? What, with Leviathan sinking Japan?"

"You know how you get the title 'Old Lady: Something or Another'? By not dying. Remember, we got that letter from her after she moved up to Hokkaido in the aftermath. I was going to write back, or try and call her just afterwards, but then the protests happened, and we spent the next six months dealing with the unpleasantness out on the Bay…"

"Oh. Then it would probably be up in the attic, in the War Trunk, if it got mixed in with the paperwork."

"Praise and Wisdom be unto you, o' Husband Mine! Glory be unto your eternal memory!"

There was more creaking from above as Annette did something above him. Danny leaned further back into his rickety home-built porch recliner, closing his eyes as the peace of the interplay with his darling and beautiful wife soothed his worries for the moment. She was doing… something with Titan information. She always broke out into the religious metaphors and flowery Old Testament language when she got into one of her moods. On the other hand, she was also being cheerful and chirpy instead of moody and wrathful so she didn't seem to be falling into the old habits.

_Creak_.

"You know, you're supposed to look at me when I cute at you. That's how the relationship is structured. I be quirky, and you be the stoic who breaks into poetry and flowery metaphors that I taught you."

"O' love of my life, o' bringer of the light of my world, mother of the small bringer of happiness, I need not my eyes to see you. Lo, thou be not 'cute,' verily I say this this day," Danny preached to his wife, smiling broadly as he heard her squawk in outrage above. "Thou be 'adorable,' this I say!"

"Damn right I am. So, are you going to adore me, or-ooooh-AHHH!"

Danny looked up just in time to see his wife slide off the slippery snow-covered awning on a slight ballistic trajectory. It was good that the old saying claimed that a good husband was a necessary foundation for a good marriage; he was serving as an excellent foundation for Annette to drop onto. His handiwork, however, lasted beneath their combined weight and momentum for a far shorter time before the arms splintered off and collapsed the haphazard chair into three pieces on the concrete patio pad.

"Look, daddy! An angel fell from the skies!" Taylor teased with a little giggle from the back door, the fabric Mothra wings on her back getting caught and leaving her hanging half-in and half-out.

Danny rubbed his head, feeling the bump that was already forming as the cold of the light snow wetted down his hair. He scowled, knowing it had to be far too close to Taylor's bedtime even if he hadn't been looking at a clock. "Aren't," He started, then stopped and calmed himself so he wouldn't sound so angry to his daughter, "Aren't moths supposed to be allergic to the cold? I don't know how soon a certain itty-bitty 'moth priestess's bedtime is, but I'm betting it might be just long enough away for her to run back upstairs and get into bed for a bedtime story."

"Yup. She's been flipper-flapping around me while I've been making a mess of our bedroom. So, this little angel's halo is in fact supported by horns. So, you better get in your bed, or I'mma gonna getchya!"

Taylor squeaked, her flailing spilling her out fully onto the porch as the patio door swung all the way open. She got back up to see both of her parents looking at her with a smile and tickle-hands doing warmup stretches in the air and ran back inside, giggling and shrieking with delight as she made her way to the bedroom. Let her parents tickle themselves.

Annette let herself sprawl out atop her husband as their daughter ran inside, angling one arm so she could scratch at his hair. "You know, she left the door open."

"Mmm-hmm."

"Do you want to engage in an epic odyssey to trudge through the cold wastes of Bi'rock'on Bay to close it?"

"Not one bit."

"It is kind of nice here."

"I can imagine."

"Taking your duties as a duly supportive husband seriously?"

"Absolutely."

"No temptation at all to go inside?"

"Well, there is a temptation…"

"Oh? Do tell?" Annette teased, a second before her error revealed itself in the form of a cold finger scratching at the ticklish spot just under her arms. She tilted her head over, to see him with his eyes still closed, but with a devilish grin on his face. "Don't you dare, Danny Hebert!" She warned with a raised voice, not that it would help.

The hands of Dread Tic'ul'u were upon her in a moment, and quickly had her rolled up onto him and laying fully atop him as he tickled her arm-pit with one hand and her belly with another, making exaggerated gnawing noises as he nibbled at her ear and pretended to chew on her hair. Most fiendish. They laid there, the husband driving his loving wife quite mad for a few minutes before he at last relented.

They laid in the snow and the dark, letting the comfortable silence sit.

"You know, honey, one of us is going to need to shut that door, or the power bill will be quite literally astronomical."

"I'll have to find an electric Titan and wire the poor thing into the house, then. I'm sure there's one out there somewhere. Maybe that stupid lake in Venezuela. The one always getting struck by lightning."

"No, Anne. You're not going on wild and zany adventures. I'd have to come along to make certain you don't accidentally get involved with some crazy doomsday cult that decides to unleash it on the world. And then I'd have to bring Taylor along, since there is no way her 'Gram-Gram' would babysit her for half a year. But Taylor's always had this bad luck of escalating every situation she's in, so odds are our precious little owl would—I don't know, maybe sit on something that would resurrect all the Titans, and then we'd be in all sorts of trouble."

Annette hmmm'd in thought for a moment. "Well, if she did, we'd get the full Protectorate autograph collection we've been meaning to start," She responded with the bright side of things.

"Legend would move to the city in a heartbeat if Taylor pulls her new 'Great Moth Priestess' routine on him."

"But it would get rid of the Empire."

"If we don't get up, that door is going to get rid of all of our heat."

Annette sighed in frustration and rolled up into a sitting position, getting up off of Danny. "Fine, fine."

Taking her offered hand, Danny pulled himself up and staggered to his feet, taking the opportunity to 'stumble' into Annette for a kiss on her forehead. As she spluttered, he hugged her tight and nuzzled the top of her head. "So, what did you find that made you think of Old Lady Monarch?"

"Oh, uh, a few things, and stuff…" Annette blurted out, stumbling over her words as she tried to come up with an adequate cover story. Danny pulled back slightly from her, letting her see his raised eyebrow of skepticism. "I found some old mythological literature buried in a back room at work. That, and some other odds and ends that were brought together, that suggest that Titans might have had some form of ecosystem regeneration and genesis effect. I wanted to compare notes with her, and maybe see if there are hotspots of activity that may show if there are still-living Titans."

"Oh. That's actually, reasonable and an interesting point."

Annette could feel her smile twitching on as she internally cheered the point for her Professional Bullshitting Degree, as she preferred to think of it. Hadn't learned nearly as much as she had wanted to in college anyway. Danny caught her smile before she could hide it, and scooted her along towards the doorway, chiding her as he did, "Kind of silly for a point, though. So, you're saying that every Titan was a walking Garden of Eden?"

"Sort of?"

"What, like making this garden bloom despite there being two black thumbs and this guy?"

"Would it make you a believer?"

"Sure. We both know it's not going to happen, but sure."

Annette paused mid-breath. She had been bullshitting him, but it had been based on weaving a few facts from the old tales together. Why not? She effectively had a 'pet' Titan for the moment under their basement. It might not be too good for Mothra to be outside in the cold for long, but she could fit through the doors. Maybe. This could work. She leaned into him, pushing him inside ahead of her as they climbed the patio steps.

"Well then," She purred, devilishly smiling as she laid a trap to make a believer out of her husband, "Since it's Saturday, how about I spend tonight praying to Mothra for our garden? Enough coffee will make up for the sleep, and I'm a grown woman. I'll make it to church for you in the morning."

"Oh? Oh don't hurt yourself."

"I can take a night without sleep. I'll probably be in bed by morning anyway."

"Alright then, if you think it will help prove you right, pray away. I agreed to give you the space when we married." Danny reached behind and shut the door behind them, leaning into Annette again. "But you'll be missing out on my burnt bacon in the morning."

"Don't you dare eat my bacon!"

* * *

It was closer to ten when Danny had finally gone to sleep that night. Annette had been praying to the small shrine to Mothra they agreed could stay in a corner of their bedroom, letting the incense and candlelight sooth her husband to sleep. It was harder than she wanted to admit to him to keep on for a few years. Lustrum had claimed the Queen of the Titans for her group's affiliation and had twisted and turned the symbol that had been difficult to move past for Annette.

She paused at the end of the Chant of Life Returning as Danny's snores grew louder with his deepening sleep. Deep breath, she could do it. If she could convince the infant Mothra to follow her up into the cold night for a bit, then frolic in the yard. And ignore the small other voice in the back of her head warning her to be careful about calling upon the Old Gods in vain or incautiously. They were rather inclined to grant the wish in the way you least wanted.

Creeping out the door, and down the stairs, she headed for the kitchen. Fruits, sugars, high energy foods might be good bait to get Mothra to do what she wanted. That, and quite a bit of prayer. Thinking to herself, she tried to calculate the god-larva's mass in her head, cursing focusing her minor on mythology. Maybe a ton? Maybe more? She jiggled on the spot by the fridge as she thought it through, trying to get herself wobbling up and down through half-hearted hops that didn't leave the ground. The floorboards didn't creak all that much. The house was from a little after '85, and still built to a better standard than 'modern' houses were. Cheap crap. If she wanted cheap, she'd order from that mass production Tinker up in Newfoundland.

The basement stairs were thankfully absurdly sturdy. They'd been built from a proper reinforced concrete arch anchored into the wall to serve as part of the roof for a Titan shelter in case one trundled through the neighborhood. Bah. Well, it'd be good for a laugh one day when she could legitimately say a Titan had stepped on it without breaking it.

The darkened hidden tunnel seemed even shorter this time, but she couldn't tell if it was the racing of her mischievous heart or something else. The tunnel walls seemed to blur by under the light of her flashlight as she struggled to keep the assortment of fruit from slipping and falling out of the bundle tucked under her arm. Dripping and humming wormed into hearing as she rounded around the twisting passage; the light of her flashlight drowned in the strange sea of blue light shimmering up from the great pool below.

"Mothra?" Annette cautiously called as she stepped into the cavern. How would she even approach the topic? Would she understand, or was she more like the animalistic interpretations? "Mothra, I beseech thee for aide, to convert an unbeliever for thine safety and security!" She shouted forth, listening to the unintelligible echoes in the cavern.

A low croon returned her cry. A loud croon. A crooning call directly above her…

Annette Hebert was one to freely admit that she probably had a bit of pee come out as she turned around to come face to upside-down face with the infant caterpillar-god hanging from a protective nest above the tunnel entrance. It—she tilted her head, adjusting her strange eyes to fixate upon the assortment of fruit that the devoted professor was holding. Slightly trembling hands shut off the flashlight to let the pulsing blue of the water and the otherworldly being illuminate the scene fully. Annette crouched carefully to set it down quietly to avoid a startling clatter for the newborn queen.

"You're just wondering why I interrupted your sleep, aren't you?" Annette inquired softly, using her free hand to stroke Mothra's skin. She couldn't tell if the croon that followed was in answer to her query, or if the caterpillar was trying to get at the fruit she was holding. Probably the latter, given the way that the forelegs were greedily reaching for the fruit that was now spilling from her bundle. Realizing her mistake, Annette tried to rectify it, tried to grab the various pieces before they fell, but it was over. All fallen down, no more. Except for the small apple that Mothra had grabbed onto and was busily chowing down on. Annette smiled with resignation, and crooned back at the infant god, "Well, I suppose the popularized fruit of the knowledge of good and evil works for a first fruit as much as any other. Hungry little thing, aren't you?"

Trill. Munch. Coo.

"I don't know what you are supposed to eat. I hope you're eating. I hope—I hope you understand me, somehow. I just don't know how I'm going to get you upstairs and back down again."

The chirp of the great caterpillar was somewhat reassuring to her.

* * *

Taylor knew that she wasn't supposed to be up. It was the 'Witchy Hour,' according to the clock. Whatever that meant. But she couldn't help herself. It had been the thumping that had woken her up. But, it wasn't the thumping of the fuzzy-tails who liked to make her daddy mad when they made holes in the roof. It came from down in the yard, like a big stomper out there. Then she noticed the familiar blue dancing across the ceiling and could hear her mother laughing a bit.

"I got your apple! You better get me, I've got your apple! That's it, dance around, shine on! Frolic!"

Mommy was letting her best little sister play while the bad goldy man was away. Oh, that was nice. Maybe daddy could stop being such a worry-pants tomorrow and play with Mothy-ra too. They could be a big family…


	4. With Every Klaxon Ring (2-1)

**Chapter Two: With Every Klaxon Ring….**

* * *

Old Lady Monarch was what she was known to most people as. To those who knew her personally, she was Mako Serizawa, devoted widow of Dr. Hensiro Serizawa. To her son, the 'Nemesis of Leviathan,' she was…

"Ma! I am aware. The rice will be here in the morning."

Kenta… no, he was not a nice boy. Losing his father in gang violence after Monarch had been forcibly disbanded following the rampage by 'Scion' through the Titan's numbers had broken him. Well, moreso than seeing the corpse of Rodan being dragged into Tokyo harbor after Scion had blown his head off. He had been so young at the time, so impressionable. Two tragedies, two idols lost in such short order had embittered him so much. He had turned to crime, joined a yakuza group. And then had come that fateful night… The Fedora Woman. That had been all she had been able to get out of him. It wouldn't be until the next day when the bodies of the entire crew were brought out that she had the faintest idea of what had happened.

Mako listened to her little Lung march out the door and angrily slam it shut before she sighed with resignation. The rickety walls of their shanty-house shook with the force, and with the howl of the wind from the driving North Pacific storm coming on-shore. No illusions as to how he would get the rice. Things were getting worse in town, ever since the Yangban had arrived.

Candles were lit, and placed in their protective cases, flickering in the gloom of the shanty- apartment. Not much of a place, but they were some of the lucky ones who survived Kyushu. Humble accommodations for humble refugees from not-so-humble origins. There were many who weren't so lucky to even have a rickety apartment, and despite the work to build their hard-scrabble compound here in the heart of the refugee camp, more than a few of her colleagues were still in the worst of the rickety communal tents down along the shoreline in the windward side of the camp.

It was a crowded home for them, half-filled with documents saved from the off-books Monarch HQ they had been using before the sinking squeezed between fabric-covered frames that had been supposed to be properly boarded over six months ago dividing up the space into the promised rooms. An imported scanner attached to an imported computer in the corner, a stack of disks in a case atop all of that. Bare, wooden floors underfoot, creaking and unpolished. The generator off in another corner altogether.

Just a little. Just enough to work on the great task of the rest of her life. Just enough to frustrate her son, and slowly drive him further away. She could tell that he could see that her life was focused on preserving what she could save from their organization. She could feel it in each harsh word that he was growing tired of the excuses of the government whenever they attempted to explain away their failure to try and rebuild. She could hear the complaints of the remnant of their organization as they dealt with him and his 'protection racket' misleading the Yangban. The Chinese government thought that the remnants of Monarch were hiding information on a Titan that they could use to control their people and keep the west out.

Maybe they were. She had only just gotten done copying all the records she could get ahold of to digital backups and distributing copies out to the remaining department heads. Maybe they were after the temple complex in the rainforests of southeast China, after Mothra. A disappointment, then. It had been empty when they had checked just after Mothra had been slain by Scion. Maybe something else? Her mother had focused on the Queen of the Titans, she wouldn't know.

Mako slowly walked over to the clear plastic window, looking out over the shantytown as she prepared to start centering herself for her prayers later on. Townsfolk scurried in the rain below, running to get home, the various street stalls closed up in the face of nature's fury. Another storm, another disruption. They had been coming more often over the last ten years as the world fell from balance. Another frustration for her Lung. Another nail in Japan's coffin. It would take a miracle to turn things around, at this point.

A clatter, a crash from the closet of a room that she called her bedroom. Mako frowned and turned to look into the interior of their apartment. Nothing in her room should have fallen, it was all placed to avoid that. She grabbed the military flashlight from the sitting table, and the katana from beneath it as she passed, flicking on the brilliant beam of light to illuminate her way. It had not been just Mothra that her mother had instructed her in. She adjusted her movements, quieting her steps as she moved to the bead drapes separating the rooms. Calmed herself, centered herself, and she moved with purpose and a war cry of intimidation.

Ah. So, it was 'Make Yourself Look Like an Idiot' Day, as the Americans would have said. She swept her flashlight across the room, her sword held at the ready. The shrine was intact. The bead eyes of the King, Queen, and their Champion glinted back at her from where the three statuettes stood in a make-shift alcove beyond her bed. The laughable metaphorical sack of potatoes she called a bed sat directly on the floor, pillows piled up messily at the head and the pile of blankets at the foot for later that night. Wait, the makeshift dresser beside her bed had been knocked over.

Floorboards creaked underfoot, eliciting a wince from Mako. She was getting to be an old woman; excitement wasn't good for her heart. The shock had nearly been enough to kill her. She chided herself, glancing around to see if someone was trying to sneak up on her. No. Nothing. So, what had tipped it over? She bent down, slowly panning her flashlight over the side, pausing as a discoloration in the wood revealed itself. Scuff marks shaped like someone had struck it with a boot-tip. It had not been there earlier, when the lights had been on. Someone had been there. How they escaped was easy. Mover power, perhaps, a teleporter of some kind. She would have to warn Kenta to be prepared for a fight overnight. Now, to see what was tak—No, not taken.

Three small devices had lit up, each one illuminating one of the statuettes of the Titans. Blue, for Gojira; red, for Rodan; and a white one, for Mothra. A white light, sitting atop a stuffed chibi Mothra, she noted. Atop a thick envelope, a cellular phone of unknown make, a note, and a computer drive system. Mako checked behind her again, approaching the shrine warily. Still nothing, no-one.

For the last 12 years, she had been under siege from various intelligence groups looking to exploit her knowledge. The yangban was only the latest set of pretenders looking to find out if they could create a tame 'endbringer.' Paranoia reigned as she approached the bundle. There was a myriad of ways to master an individual that could be concealed within the various items. Cognitive hypno-wave subliminal sounds in the speaker of the phone, pheromone dust in the letters, conceptual madness lurking in the very writing upon the pages of the letter. Any number of ways. Yet, she could not simply burn it all.

It was a very nice little chibi Mothra.

Nothing to it, then, but to find out. A prayer first, to the King, his Queen, and their champion for protection. That they might give insight, wisdom, and luck against whatever threats may be coming to stand against her. She knelt before the shrine, bowing to each statue in turn as she recited the relevant prayer. Then came out the protective breath mask from under the shrine, and the earmuffs to go with them, and the sword and flashlight went down beneath it. Better safe than sorry. Gojira would better protect those who adequately prepared themselves for the coming fight.

First came off the light, setting it down just beside the bundle where it would not get in the way. Generic, yet somewhat quality—nothing cheap to illuminate the queen, yet there was no identifiable manufacturer quirk or marking. The chibi Mothra beneath it was quite nice as well. Small rubber legs for a stand, a nice thickness to the material and it squished quite nicely. Accurate for the most part. Well… save for the embroidered facial features. Mako picked up the light that had been atop the bundle and looked closer at it. It was an exaggeration of an expression she had seen all too often in the camp; a mother's weary smile that didn't quite reach the sad and tired eyes set above that forlornly gazed back.

A flutter rustled in the dark behind Mako, smacking up against the thick bead curtain separating the rooms.

The old woman was up in a moment, dropping the chibi as her hands swept down and pulled forth her previous instruments of defense. Stalking forwards, she raised her old sword in a high defense and prepared to sweep the main room of the apartment once more. Light still off, she counted down in her head as the candlelight flickered through the fabric walls, casting dim orange-yellow images through the walls. A flutter in the quiet dark, a flicker of a shadow that couldn't be matched up to the candle-flames. It was coming in her direction, she would burst through the curtain and menace whoever it was in 5, 4, 3, 2…

"HIIIIIIII-YAAAAAAAAAAAA-Argh!"

Mako was mortified as she screamed like she was thirty years younger. If her mother, or Rodan forbid her Kenta, saw her flailing and trying to remove the gigantic moth that had firmly attached itself to her face she would never live it down. Still sensible enough to avoid using the blade as the wings batted against her face, Mako continued screaming from the shock of the experience as she stumbled around blindly. A small corner of her mind depreciated her dignity even further, insisting loudly to the rest of the internal peanut gallery that to add to all the other indignities being heaped upon her the moth was more terrified of her than she was of it and she was being defeated in honorable combat. No, not being defeated, she would reflect a second later. From the floor. No, she had been soundly defeated by a lowly moth, having been distracted into tripping over the sitting table. Really, she should renounce the blade if a moth was all it took to bring her down.

The dreadful creature had disengaged from her when she had fallen, and now flittered about until it settled on a particularly tall stack of research notes. As Mako propped herself back up to glare at the dreadful creature, she couldn't help but find it familiar. It almost looked… chibi. Wings far too large for it's body mass, legs looking comically fat and oversized, and a pair of compound eyes that looked tired and apologetic somehow. It looked almost exactly like the chibi Mothra plushy sitting where it had been dropped on the floor in the other room. Like… the description of the Shobijin moths, before they had all perished with New Birth Island at the hands of Leviathan. The moths that were said to be avatars of Mothra's will to those who were willing to listen, and whom passed messages on when they—the tiny moth's abdomen began to glow a brilliant blue green—glowed.

It was an impossible sight. No, not impossible in the entirety. Maybe a legacy breeding population hidden away on Hokkaido somewhere? But how would it have gotten in? How did it guide her to trip in the right place to fall onto the sitting mats? So many more questions, all whirling in Mako's mind as she tried not to feel the one emotion she didn't want to feel again.

"Little one, from where do you come?" She quietly asked of it and chided herself.

Glittering wings, shaded from that brilliant blue-white at their base to tiger stripes of white and black flicked once, then opened wider to reveal the raging yellow-orange eyespots at their tip. Somehow, the posture of the moth changed, raising the disturbingly shaped forelegs into a ready posture before it as it stood up straighter; challenging her. The glow of the abdomen light grew brighter as the moth shook it menacingly. Well, that was probably the intent.

Mako, on the other hand, was not about to be frightened by a moth. Twice, anyway. "You fought valiantly, little one, but surprise is no longer on your side. Answer me."

A glare, through the gloom and dark. Two relics of an age supposedly long since past, staring each other down. A conflict of wills, one that ended as abruptly as it started as the moth dropped out of the challenge and flicked its wings once more in a feathery-sounding buzz. Mako glared at it longer yet, daring it to try again.

"It is not polite to invade a home and abuse the hospitality of your host, little Shobijin."

Had it smiled at her? It seemed as such as the glittering blue reflections shifted in a way that seemed to change from a glower to… something else. The flicker of blue from the moth's tail changed in a moment, turning into a bright blinking before it flew up and began circling. Once, twice above the stack it had rested atop, then it swooped down, flittering all about the room in a rush, knocking over loose file folders and old photos sitting atop stacks in its passage. Mako ducked as it swept overhead, then warily watched as it flew back towards the divider to her own room. Oddly, watching a moth big enough to comfortably fit itself fully over her face be stymied by a bead curtain was both highly amusing and satisfying, yet annoyingly frustrating as it continued smacking itself against the curtain.

Smack. Flutter-flutter-flutter-buzz. Smack. Flutter-flutter-flutter-buzz-buzz. Smack...

Mako checked the seals on her breath mask, running a finger along the side as she breathed out to check for leaks. No, she probably hadn't been exposed to an inhalation powder. Maybe it was real, instead of some form of projection or a master power. The entirely-too-large-for-comfort Shobijin moth kept smacking into the beads, apparently unaware that it could crawl under them if the increasingly insistent buzzing it was making was actually a sign of aggression and irritation as her subconscious anthropomorphism of the creature was in any way correct.

A frustrated sigh left her as she struggled to her feet. She'd have to help it. "Calm yourself, little one, I am coming," she warned as she picked up her sword and light to return to the bedroom. To her surprise, the buzzing of the moth stopped, and it began flittering in a circle above the space before the door, tightly whirling with random flashes emerging from the light upon its abdomen. As soon as Mako had parted the bead curtain open by using her sword to press in the beads from one side, the moth buzzed loudly and swooped about her to dive in through the opening sideways. Its glow quickly grew brighter and brighter within the room, shining almost white as it cast deep shadows from the place of the shrine. The buzzing returned, accompanied by the tiny clack of claws snapping against a hard surface impatiently.

Ah, the impatience of the young. She was tempted to let the little moth stew there until Kenta returned, so that she could use his resistance to master effects to verify whether or not she was somehow being mastered. Then again, it was a Shobijin moth, back from the dead, and likely sitting atop the Mothra statuette. There was a flutter of wings, then the sounds of scraping and clacking from within. No, it was probably not wise to let it suffer. It was petty.

Mako stepped through the bead curtain sideways, facing the shrine as she did. The… hmm, perhaps 'Moth of Unusual Size' would work as a shorter descriptor, MoU stood beside the bundle of items left behind, and was busily attempting to drag the unusual computer disk case off of the letter at the bottom, having already pushed the phone off. Mako walked up to the scene quietly and set her sword down into the rack beside the statue of Rodan, then pushed the case to the side across the shrine into a free space below Mothra's idol.

With a squeak, the shobijin moth clambered over the case, stepping lightly over Mako's hand to crawl onto the thick letter. It started tapping insistently at the half-obscured return address with a foreleg as it looked up at Mako anxiously and impatiently. The blue light the moth was casting was hideous for reading past the red ink slathered viciously all over the envelope, and it took fiddling with the new shrine light for the goddess of life to adjust it so that she could read in traditional light.

Ah. 'Rejected from Import by order of the Intelligence Service. Suspicious Individual, Known Troublemaker. Return to Sender, Observe. Insufficient Postage for International Mail.' The petty bureaucracy struck again, it seemed. It wasn't that Mako was a person of interest that was the primary reason for rejecting the letter, it was a failure to pay the bills. Ah. So, who… Ah, Annette. Who had married that scruffy-looking goat-herder of a man, Danny Hebert. Stubborn, convicted, willing to fight to the last for those he cared about when not apathetic. A good mix, their child would be the sort to do great things. The right mix of whimsy and inability to recognize when to give up that could shift the world. 113, Toho Lane, Brockton Bay.

Wait. Moths don't squeak.

The Shobijin moth took her momentary distraction as an opening to flit up to the envelope she was holding, perching onto it and pointing a free foreleg at the return address half-buried by the various official inks. Repeatedly, insistently, tap-tap-tap-tap-tapping at it with almost a fury. It looked up at her, trilling as it flittered it's wings and trilled at her, associating itself with the return address on the envelope. The little thing wobbled back and forth as it tried to keep balanced atop the half-inch thick envelope, fluttering its wings as the paper bent slightly under the weight of the overgrown insect.

"Stop that, you'll ruin it," Mako insisted in somewhat of a daze, shocked more that the little Shobijin instantly obeyed and lifted off to land atop Mothra once more with another chirp. The not-so-little one was intelligent. Very intelligent. For an insect.

She flipped over the envelope, discovering it had been crudely opened at least once, then resealed with a blue-green wax seal the same color as the glow from the little Shobijin. She looked at the seal carefully, noting the Greek Omega embossed into the wax, and the elegant kanji written across the back. A symbol that rang a hint of familiarity from somewhere within her memory, lost somewhere between the trivia concerning the mythological history of Gamera, tales she had reconstructed of The One Who Was Many, and the research project she had been working on to try and link mythic heroes and some form of Titan-granted parahuman powers. No, not ancient, something more recent. Probably nothing.

_Honorable Serizawa,_

_As a devotee of our guiding light, I most humbly apologize for the lateness of these glad tidings. I have not fully been myself for many years, and only her intervention has brought me to my senses. Take the phone, it is secure, and works off of another network. You shall be able to make the calls you need without being overheard. They're already programmed in. I have included tickets for several potential flights. Whether you use them yourself or give them to the senior staff is up to you. You must leave for her, however. These missives, and my unfortunate need to unleash a portion of the King's Wrath upon those who would destroy them has led to undue attention being drawn unto you._

_Pray to Rodan with your son. Ask for the blessings of the champion so as to bestow a measure of his skill unto a humbled dragon, so that he may continue climbing the falls to a place of wisdom. You will need it. Her humble messenger will convey a portion of her wisdom unto you and assist in guiding you to where you need to be._

_As a smallest portion of my necessary penance, I have included a detailed set of scientific observations of our newborn Queen. Also, baby pictures to keep her humble. May you find her as adorable as I have. _

_Heed this warning, more rides on it than you can know. Victory can only be found by following this Path To it. Keep the faith, there are dark times. The dawn draws near. It will be many years yet, but there has been a turning of the tide._

_Your penitent sister of the faith,_

_The Fortunate Daughter of Mosura._

Whoever had written was either delusional or touched. Perhaps both. Mako broke the seal and spilled the documents from within onto the shrine to look at. Oh. A picture of a glowing larva in a cavern somewhere, being fed a watermelon by a small child who was looking at it—her—with delight. More. The same child with a book of some sort, who was laying against the same larva half-curled around her; the same child with another bowing together to the infant titan; the caterpillar plopped into a nest of some sort, somehow radiating a sense of smug and pleased that seemed entirely too excessive for any being to have; Annette, kneeling with an overawed look on her face, feeding the infant Mothra an assortment of greens before a great glowing pool within a Geofront of some form. Annette, Mothra, and the same small child from before, frolicking for lack of a better word in a thawing backyard filled with plants that were already growing rampant through remaining small drifts of snow.

Mako's hands trembled as she shifted the photos aside to reveal a set of observations on the physical characteristics of the infant titan, then a letter in strange English. The old lady of Monarch sat down to avoid falling down as the shocks to her system built up and began reading through the convoluted letter. Multiple ciphers were built into the wording. Much of the letter was in fact gibberish. Polite gibberish, meant to convey goodwishes and tidings to her, but fluff all the same. Four false ciphers hinted at to try and throw thinkers off the scent as Annette had been taught; and a real one hidden behind them for those who knew what to look for.

_**All Hail the Newborn Queen. Peace on Earth, Goodwill to All. Is Making a Garden of Eden In Her Name. Come, See. If You Can. Have a Place for You. City at Large Showing Signs of Unusual Growth. Theories of Being Key to Balance MAY be True. Could be New Start. Come, and See.**_

Mako blinked a few times, wondering if she could believe in her heart. Could it be an attempt to lure her out? Maybe. She'd have to wait until Kenta got home. She blinked a few more times, wondering if she needed to get glasses. It was getting blurry. Oh. That was a tear. Yes, that was understandable. It couldn't possibly be real. But she could let herself hope for a moment. Just a moment.


	5. YANGBAN (2-2)

**Yangban**: (Noun) The name for the collective People's State of China's Intelligence and Parahuman Handling Organization. This organization was heavily reformed several times following the advent of the modern Parahuman phenomenon (Link to: _Suspected and Known Historical Parahumans_; _Titans_). The Parahuman side of the organization took over following being folded into the collective whole, and has since refocused using a new paradigm. Currently, they are suspected to operate in most countries as a hostile recruitment force attempting to collect valuable powers to assist efforts to secure the PSC, conduct disruption operations on various Parahuman organizations of other states to protect the PSC's interests, and attempting to gain the powers or technology necessary to control the 'post-Parahuman Nuclear Paradigm.' Namely, creating or controlling a state Titan.

As such, the Yangban has been a traditional adversarial force against the multinational Titan organization, Monarch (_Link_), since the mid-1990s as part of their efforts to gain and control the information that Monarch has in order to at least deny that information to others. Notable incidents include the 2001 Hokkaido Incident (_Link_), the Miracle of Newfoundland in 2005 (_Link_), and the 2009 Brockton Bay Battle (_Link_). Monarch has avoided directly antagonizing the Yangban but has refused direct national protection from the various national and international Parahuman and Intelligence organizations on the grounds that they believe they would be mined for their knowledge by those organizations instead.

The Yangban uses a mix of cape and non-cape actors, typically using a squad or cell-based approach to their actions. These typically compose a team of non-Parahuman agents backed up by a mixed team of Parahumans who assist, with variations depending on assignment, security of the target, and other factors. It is unknown how many of these cells exist at this time (_Citation Needed_).

©Wikipedia, November 2009.

* * *

"It will be delivered."

The black-market dealer nodded quickly as he scooted a little further back from the burning hands sharpening newly-grown metal talons against a dully glowing knife. The alcohols sitting beneath his counter began popping their tops off one by one as the heat slowly pressurized them and the stall-front caught ablaze. It had been a good deal for him for a while. He smuggled in high-value items into the Refugee Control Zone set up through the 'assistance' of the PSC and had hired on the cape who had fought Leviathan with some of the proceeds a few months back. Then, one day his enforcer had decided to bite the hand that fed him.

"Good. It would be a grave misfortune if I had to distribute your duties amongst the other dealers of the zone."

Starting with the utterly terrifying wordplay. The damn fool had demanded that he run the smuggling rings instead of them and had started pissing away the money from their profits on asinine hearts and minds nonsense. Feeding the poor was the government's job, he was supposed to be in it for the money! The Yazuka Code was a bad joke with the state of the country. He was down to a third of what he had been previously making because of this nonsense. And now he was expected to start taking another 5% off his profit to pass out rice?

"Then let us conclude these negotiations. I shall not kill you for hording from the needful, and you will stop attempting to hide excess profits from me when there is rebuilding to do."

"Y-yes, o' wise one. Your mercy is boundless," The dealer stammered as the blaze of Lung's anger slowly faded and the flames receded from his form.

"Good."

Still, he had to know. He waited for a few seconds as Lung turned away and started stalking away from the open storefront. Long enough to get far enough out into the driving rain to give him time to duck a thrown fireball if the terrible cape decided to enact revenge. Long enough to get a chance to extinguish the flames dancing on the open stall-front by pulling the string that would dump water from the collecting cistern over the countertop. Damn his curiosity, he really wanted to know why that block in particular. "Why do you want to send the rice to the rich, o'dragon? Surely, they can pay for it themselves! Why do you want that block to receive it?"

Lung instantly ignited once more in the rain, steam billowing up around the frightful cape as he turned his head slightly. "Why do you presume such?"

"They have a completed apartment block!"

"And that makes them 'rich' how, precisely? Do you know who built it, and why? I built it. For my mother, and those with her who cannot ply their trades."

"My apologies, o'dragon. I have erred. Immediately, o'dragon." Oh kamis, he was going to die.

"See to it," Lung rumbled ominously as he turned his head back to his direction of travel. "Any further errors, and I will see to correcting them permanently." He marched onwards, heading wherever he was off to next. Implacably. Inevitably.

It wasn't until Lung marched around the corner, disappearing into the darkness of the ill-lit streets and driving rains that the black-market shopkeeper relaxed. What an utter mess of a day. First 'Typhoon' Rodan striking out of season from the south, then the Yangban tried to get him to flip on Lung, and now Lung was understandably entirely ready to taste his soul as lightly fried for interrupting the food supply to his own mother. Things couldn't get any worse.

"Ah, but they could, young one." Speak of the devil with three tongues, and he shall appear.

The shopkeeper turned, stepping with a military about-face to immediately put the wall to his back as he turned to face the Yangban cape. Jewels glinted in the dark of the remaining candles in the shop, reflecting facets of blood red as the cape mockingly bowed to him. A second cape appeared, the blue jeweled oni mask denoting him as the 'Stranger' of the group, next to the red mask of the 'Thinker,' as the Americans would call them. Gravel crunched outside as a third dropped from the skies, bearing a white-jeweled mask of a 'Mover'. Three capes. It was supposed to be a figure of speech!

The cape emerged from his bow, his red-trimmed robes concealing many of his features as he took a step forward. The voice was just as modulated as before, filtered by the 'tinkertech' in the mask itself until it was a mechanical yet demonic rasp as it echoed in the shopkeeper's mind, "You have been most effective in providing us with a solution to our ongoing problem of finding Dr. Serizawa. You will be rewarded. Indirectly, of course, as you have indirectly helped us."

"I will not help you."

Clicker-clack was the sound of the cape's step, and the black inlays of the cape's mask came into focus. "Oh, but you have. And you will now." Reverb shook the shop as the cape took another clattering step forward, their black robes shifting around their feet. Infernal red shone from the cape's mask. "Which block, precisely, does he refer to?"

It wasn't the cape's mask; it was their eyes; a demon's eyes. The shopkeeper couldn't look away. His heart hammered in his chest as he tried to avert his gaze or dive out the open storefront. But he couldn't. The eyes were everywhere; to his left, his right, in his head. The question repeated in his mind, pressing down on him as it was asked over and over again in the voice of every person he had ever cared about until it was his entire world. Nothing mattered except Hesei Block. He needed to get to Hesei Block. Hesei Block. -

"You have exceeded your bounds, Mind," Spoke the Stranger as he looked down at the babbling shopkeeper. Blood was dripping from his nose and ears as the cerebral hemorrhage began in earnest. "You have compromised our position. Lung will be expecting the promised delivery."

The Shaker/Blaster walked up to the storefront, the ever-present winds of their powers swirling against the interior of the shop as he did. "It is an acceptable deviation from parameters, Stealth."

Mind squatted down in front of the shopkeeper, unfolding his arms from in front of himself so he could reach out with one black-gloved hand to move the dying shopkeeper's head for a better look. So much to learn about, so little time left. "His relationship with Lung is poor. He is weak-willed, part of why Lung was able to vassalize him. Given the threat, we can salvage this. Arrange for damaged rice to be delivered, then we ensure that this one's head is found crushed beneath something heavy. Honorable suicide in the face of a failure to deliver as a more merciful death than being burned alive."

"Did you detect other relationships that may be of concern?" Stealth asked as he looked away from the macabre scene to scan the street for potential witnesses. While his power could only actively blind two or three to the presence of himself and his comrades together, he could still feel the presence of the gazes of others if he looked.

"None that intersect Lung. An old couple, a young 'otaku,' two young teenage girls and their mother, another tinker who specializes in oceanic vessels that this fool did not recognize, and—there was something there. I cannot tell, he has passed beyond this world now."

The third member of the group cocked their head in concern. "Will it be necessary to move on the Hesei Block soon?"

Mind shook their head. "Not yet. Investigate at a distance. Image the cityscape to determine positions for Fanren Squads One and Two. Have Squad Three prepare as a mobile heavy team, should we have need of it. Stealth, ensure that the cover for this goes well. I must research who the last relationship the merchant possessed goes to."

The Shaker/Blaster bowed their head, bending at the waist with arms crossed before them as Mind had mockingly bowed to the merchant. "It will be done, Mind."

The cape uncrossed their arms, dramatically rising into the air in a flurry of wind that whipped the raging downpour into a microcosm of the out-of-season storm. Rain splattered against the interior of the shop in blasts, swept around by the bands of wind. All grew relatively silent once more as the cape vanished into the swirling winds of the storm.

"Wind is rather flighty sometimes," Mind dryly commented as they pushed the shopkeeper over with their victim's death rattle. Stealth did not concede a response to the comment as they shut the remains of the storefront awning over the space.


	6. Shobijin (2-3)

**Shobijin**: (Noun) A species of giant moth, formerly exclusively found on 'New Birth Island' (_Link_) before the island's destruction by Behemoth. For eight years, it was believed that the species was extinct until it appeared in Brockton Bay, New Hampshire in June, 2001. Since then, it has begun rapidly spreading in isolated pockets all across the globe. Shobijin moths are believed to be the original species of 'Mothra' (_Link_) due to the uncanny resemblance to the former Titan. How, precisely, they have endured as a fossil species for the 200 to 400 million years that Mothra can be traced back to remains a mystery.

Shobijin moths retain most of the basic moth body plan. Possessing six basic legs, and two pairs of wings based around a three-segment body. However, they are vastly larger than traditional moths, with a body length of approximately six to ten inches (15.25 to 25.5 centimeters) in length, with a wingspan that can exceed two feet (61 centimeter) for the largest specimens. Beyond this, their legs are much more heavily developed than most flying insects. All of their legs possess a sophisticated foot structure at the tip, with the forelegs specialized in grabbing and manipulating. These moths are also omnivorous to an unusual extent, able to eat an extensive variety of items, usually maintaining a vegetarian diet when not scavenging. They have notable mantis-like mouthparts, able to bite, tear, and conduct a wide variety of operations. Additionally, they possess a stinger at the tail-tip of their abdomen, with a venom that has been described as 'similar to or more powerful than' a Bullet Ant's (_Nettube Link_).

The Shobijin are an unusual species in multiple manners. While early attempts to recover examples from New Birth Island before its destruction universally led to the death of the specimens, the majority of the new population have proven to be extremely hardy, surviving for multiple years and traumas that should have killed them. They also possess an unusual degree of intelligence, similar to or exceeding that of corvids, and are known for picking out an 'owner' for themselves (_Citation Link_)…

©Wikipedia, July 2008

* * *

Mako sat in the candle-lit dark quietly, rocking back and forth in her chair as she read over the old Monarch material on the Shobijin. Thunder rumbled once more, rain clattering against the plastic of the window harshly in rhythmic waves of activity. Another band of storms slammed against the coast, driving the moaning wind through the streets and whistling in slightly in the spaces were the exterior sealing wasn't entirely effective. It was all simply delightful in it's own way; brought her back to her misspent youth prowling the oceans with her father on voyages of surveying. A page was turned, an old image of a Shobijin moth posing atop her father's head on an expedition to New Birth Island. A chirp sang from the one atop her head. Perhaps it was reacting to the one in the picture. Or it was relaxing in the heat from her head.

One of the advantages of the relatively shoddy construction of the Hesei apartment block was the way that it gave away those approaching. Each of the stairs groaned in a specific tune to specific people. The hallways popped with each step as the floorboards slipped past one another in a manner not unlike the still-frequent earthquakes of the region. Kenta was coming up in a foul mood, trudging in a way that made a greater racket than normal. Good. If it was a master or stranger fooling with her head, then he was at least primed to 'ramp up' fast enough to avoid being snared as well.

"Is that you, my little koi?"

The deep-seated growl of discontent rumbled through the door as Kenta did his best not to let the master/stranger check bother him. Much. The boy had always suffered from inadequacy issues from his father's and grandfather's accomplishments, and the repurposed joke was one of the things that would best get him to react honestly. If he took it in good humor, it was time to dive out the nice plastic window.

A thump, the wall rattling as Kenta began banging his head against the wall by the door. "What is it, Ma?" He grunted out through what sounded like gritted teeth in the smallest smidgen of an attempt to be polite.

"Some of your father's art made it back to me. I know how you don't like it usually, but would you like to take a look to see if it is to your tastes?"

The lock on the door was worked quickly, the sound of a key fumbling against the action scratching out a few times before Kenta got it right. Mako turned to look at the door with expectation as her little guest began glowing once more. Her little Lung hated Master checks. It was probably the idea that something could control him. Kenta opened the door slowly, poking his head partially out from around it to avoid being fully exposed.

"Ma."

"Yes, Kenta?"

"Do not be alarmed, but there is a very large moth on your head."

"Ah, so it isn't just me."

"It's looking right at me and is glowing."

"It's been doing that ever since it showed up. Would you describe it for me?"

"It looks like a Shobijin. Exactly like the old photos."

"So, it isn't just me."

"Has it hurt you?"

"Only my pride." Mako flipped the next page in the old report, reading over the known dietary habits of the Shobijin. "The little bugger decided to be feisty shortly after a Mover dropped him and a few items off."

Kenta frowned as he slowly stepped inside, steaming quite literally as he warmed up in preparation to ramp up for combat. "Did you see them?"

"No. Such an inconsiderate guest. They dropped some things off at the shrine, then left without so much as apologizing for the trouble. Bah, ninjas in my day at least left a courtesy warning card embedded in the table before they left."

Kenta closed the door behind him, studiously watching every corner of the room with divided attention. "Whatever you say, Ma," He humored her in response. The only obvious signs of activity was the breathing mask on his Ma's face, the katana laid across her lap, the 'moth' imperiously perched upon her head, and the slight mess of papers scattered from the 'research topics' by her door. He slowly walked forward, locking 'eyes' with the 'moth' as he did. "Can you be sure it is real?"

"Kenta, we live in a world where you turn into a miniature Rodan; there are teleporters, people who can control you with their eyes, actual sentai teams like you used to watch when you were itty-bitty, laser faces, so on;" Mako listed off, ticking down fingers on the hand laying atop her katana as she counted down the absurd number of things that had once been the realm of fiction, "and a world where the gods of old are real, and granted power to those who were worthy. Either it is a disrespectful moth, or it is a power that can somehow fool you when you are prepared to do battle. Either way, it is there now that you see it."

The miniature Mothra manifestation murred in mutual agreement to the matron he had made his mount.

"I am no Rodan, Ma." Kenta corrected in irritation as he stopped to stand across the sitting space from his mother and her companion.

A deep chuckle was Mako's first response to his insistent objection. "You pick fights with everyone who looks at you wrong almost to the detriment of sanity, yet you protect that which you have defined your own with just as much insane loyalty. You are a demon of fire and air, and when you pick a cause to fight for you act as its champion in as many things as possible," She concluded as Kenta started to object. "Come, now, sit. Do not be an unwelcome stranger in your own home."

"If it is a power—"

"You can throw fire. If it comes to that, whether you sit or not will not matter when you respond. Stop making us both uncomfortable, and sit, Kenta." She commanded, the loudness of her shaming echoing slightly in the apartment. Kenta sat. He put his back to the wall, sitting so that he could look to the door and the window without twisting much, just across the small sitting table from his mother. "See, was that so hard?" The wonder moth atop her pecked at her head with a foreleg. "Ow! Respect, little one!"

It chittered back at her with a variety of sounds.

Kenta took the bait happily, "Perhaps it serves as a messenger of Mothra, telling you to be kind to others as Mothra desires to be kind to all things?"

"Smart boys don't get cookies later," she retorted with a bit of a snap to her voice, before relenting lightly a second later as she remembered. "You are correct, though. I should watch my tone. My apologizes. I forget myself and who you have become sometimes."

"So, the moth," Kenta dubiously began as an offering of conversation.

Mako beamed, and the Shobijin glowed in response. "Isn't it exciting!? A Shobijin! They were supposed to be dead! Then again, so was Mothra." It seemed as if thirty years melted from her for a moment as she beamed with happiness and nearly spilled her folder full of notes and observations everywhere in glee. "But it's here! And you can see it! How delightful! Wonderous!"

"So… was… Mothra?"

"There is a newborn Queen," Mako gleefully proclaimed as she reached into the back of the folder with the hand that had been resting on the blade, withdrawing the set of photos showing the Mothra larva. "Oh, isn't she just adorable?"

Kenta took the photos from her carefully, casting a wary gaze up towards the moth atop his mother's head once more suspiciously. They weren't exactly what he had been expecting, though. "It seems a bit small to be a Mothra. And, the gajin?"

"Americans. Annette Hebert, an old follower of Monarch. We corresponded often before Kyushu. Loved researching the old myths. Helped us quite a bit in the interregnum period between your father's death and my taking over. We found several of the—well, where Scion killed several of the titans from the myths she helped dig up." Mako explained. She paused, then looked around for the personnel folder on the brilliant young professor. Her companion wobbled atop her head with complaint as Mako swiveled in her seat back and forth. "Kenta, dear, where did I leave the personnel files?"

"In the stack by the kitchen, next to the tea cabinet," Kenta absentmindedly responded as he flicked through the photos. The kanji on the scientific notes caught his attention, vaguely sending up a klaxon in his mind. He had seen the handwriting before, somewhere. "I must admit I am pleased with her thoroughness. She knows to respect you."

"Oh, those weren't her. The photos and the scientific observations were from our mysterious visitor. She intercepted the interception of the letter and threw in conclusive proof," Mako replied as she set her katana off to the side, pulled her breath mask down, and carefully got up. Her heraldic companion made protesting noises once more as he was wobbled from side to side, finally flittering up into the air as he had enough. "She used terminology in her own note on the back of the envelope that says she may have been a priestess of the tribe on New Birth Island before its destruction. That's part of why I wanted you to verify that I really was seeing things."

Fire exploded between horns that shot from the crown of Kenta's head in a single moment as he caught sight of something he was far too familiar with. "HAT!" He snarled, seeing the slightly burnt fedora from the worst day of his life set down on the roof beside the viewpoint of the garden photo. She—the seething loathing and fear that was bound up in that epithet could barely be contained—had been in his home! Had been in the same room as his mother, knew where he lived! He-he had to-how was he going to stop her from—NO!

Mako turned around in shock, watching the orb of flame sitting atop her son's head dance and sputter with the snarl of anger on his transforming face. He had never told her much of the day he had 'triggered'. Only a few words about how a strange woman had done something to him. It hadn't been until a week later that the slaughter of everyone else in Kenta's Yakuza group was reported by police. An utter slaughter.

"Kenta! She isn't here now," she called to him as the transformations of his power continued to slowly overtake him.

Metallic scales were sprouting across his shoulders as he shook with fear and rage. The photos dropped from his hands as his heart pounded in his chest. Shrill noise filled his hearing; was it the screaming of his memories or his own voice hoarsely yelling a roar of defiance in the now? It didn't sound human. Pain distracted him from his musings in either direction, a scratching at his face and pinching of something sharp. He opened his eyes as the shrill noise came again in a more familiar form. The scream of Mothra, angry and defiant, in miniature form. The Shobijin had clung to his face and glared back at him as it flashed its wings wide in warning. Kenta blinked as he tried to look away from the glinting blue compound eyes, only for the fiery orange of the eyespots on the wings to catch him instead. Feathery antennae brushed against his scaled forehead and with them came the sense of something unimaginably—More—brushing against his mind with them.

[_Sorrow. Apologies. Challenge._]

And then, it was gone. He wasn't sure he had experienced it or not as the herald of the queen let go and flapped away. He wanted to say he had. A small part of his mind, a small and frightened little corner, felt as if it had experienced the strange everything-yet-nothing mental touch twice before. Once had been when he had been young, barely able to remember it at all when he had been carefully taken to New Birth Island with his mother. The other time… had been the day he became Lung.

As his mind calmed from the mad reaction to seeing a piece of the most traumatic moment of his life, he realized several things. One, the floor was surprisingly comfortable against his back. Two, the Shobijin—it had to be one—was clinging to one of the rafters looking down at him with concern. Three, his throat was sore from screaming. Four, he was starting to believe the old stories if a Shobijin could knock him over his tail in seconds as it had. Five, and finally, one way or another things would be alright. Either he would make it alright, or Mothra would.

Mako bent over, looking down at him with horror. "Kenta…"

"What was your first time?"

That hadn't been quite the question that Mako had been expecting. "Is this really the time to ask about your mother's sex life?"

"Your first time where you started to believe," Kenta croaked as his heard fitfully slowed down.

"Oh."

He would smile, if it didn't hurt so much. His mother could know shame. What a remarkable discovery. He would have to write it down. If his hands didn't hurt so much. He must have clenched them hard enough to puncture his palms.

Mako sat down against a stack of document boxes to the right of her son as she started wracking her head for the time. It had all been so heady, back in the late '70s when all the Titans had started waking up again. Maybe they should have paid attention when so many of the old gods had stirred. "Before you were born. My first encounter with Gojira and Rodan. It was a small island that doesn't exist anymore. Volcanic, you see, and it collapsed beneath the waves thanks to that… kaiju, Leviathan."

Kenta was still trying to unpack whatever it had been that the Shobijin had relayed to him from the vast mind beyond. He didn't say anything as he waited for his mother to continue.

"It had been starting to erupt while we were on it, looking for… well, it wasn't there. One of the less 'people-friendly' Titans emerged from the sea as we were running back to the boat. We found out later that Rodan had emerged from his lair in Mexico a few hours earlier after a roar off the coast. The first thing that we saw was the eruption column parting like a bamboo stake carved apart by a master swordsman before he landed behind us. The scream was deafening. Louder than the volcano, angrier than you fighting Leviathan. Everything just stopped, and we were trapped there."

Mako stopped for a bit as she calmed her own nerves from the shock of her son's panic attack a little more. "He, Rodan I mean, turned to us. The eyes judged us in ways that I—I think he found us wanting. Monarch was still working for the governments at the time, hunting down Titans. We were still planning on killing them. Until that day." She stopped as a series of rolling thunderclaps rumbled through the apartment block from above as a heavier storm moved onshore. "Until Gojira." Lightning flashed again, louder and closer, lighting up the apartment with the afterimages and casting long shadows through the stacks. "He came up from the depths. Impossibly fast, easily thirty stories tall. The King of the Monsters there to conquer. He looked at us as well. I don't know why, but it felt like we were being judged. Again."

"I—"

Mako's face took on a dour and pensive bent as she bit her lip, just for a moment. "He did not," She hesitantly started, then stopped. "It was not as if we were being judged as a threat, or—it was as if he looked at us, and decided we could be useful, and had promise," She haltingly continued as she tried to get across the experience in a way that could be understood. "I will swear to my dying day on Gojira's honor this: He deliberately decided to spare us. As he and Rodan fought their fellow titan, he went out of his way to avoid stepping on us, he put himself in the way of blows that would have struck us, and he moved constantly to throw the third titan away from us as we escaped."

"Religion, then?"

"Oooh, you would not believe how badly your grandfather jumped in wholeheartedly. He looked fifteen years younger overnight afterwards. Your father became just like him. And so did you, in your own way. Except more like Rodan. Your grandfather and father were more into Gojira. They called him the key to our coexistence with the Titans." Mako rambled on half-absentmindedly as she sat back harder and let herself slump a little. They were strong memories, still shining with the light of the titans. She ruefully chuckled as she thought of Kenta's earlier days. "You know, far too much like Rodan. Always fire, and anger. He never respected any others. He and Gojira fought more than you can imagine, always trying to be the king. Right up until it was time to do his duty. Mothra had to sting him a few times to make it stick."

Kenta rumbled incoherently as he tried to reach into his mind, back towards the memories of the fedora-wearing woman. But it wasn't right. It wasn't the fresh, still-bleeding wound it had been. He could feel the edge of fear, and rage, but it didn't consume him as it had before.

"Oh, I can still remember the time you set the drapes on fire when you tried to pretend to be him. Running around with a great 'wing' behind your back on the porch. You had crammed all the insense into a box and stuck a candle into it to create a smoke column for your big 'Rodan Entrance'…"

"Ma, really?"

Mako crossed her arms in annoyance, huffing in a manner unbefitting her age as she was interrupted. "Fine, let your old mother fail to pass on her tales to the next generation."

"Write them down, then. What did the Shobijin do to me?" Kenta inquired in annoyance as he slowly sat up with a full-body ache. Especially his head. His head felt like someone—perhaps a hundred-meter-tall individual who doubled as a living atomic reactor—had decided to rest their feet upon his head for several hours. Above him, the moth in question 'stood up' relative to where it hung from the rafter, starting to glow bright blue green as it began chirping. Kenta kept his gaze fixed on it as it twitched and moved. "The memory of that day, it did something to it. It mastered me somehow. The memory is not so vivid any longer."

Invisible pressure filled the room as the glow of the Shobijin grew with it, and the shadow of a mind far too large to possibly exist came with the presence.

[_Peace. Correction. Apologies._]

Mako and Kenta couldn't be certain which whispered the name of the Queen first, but they both did as the recognition rattled them both in the lizard-y instinctual parts of their brain. Mothra, speaking through her herald.

[_Confirmation. Regrets. Preparation. Departure._]

It was a tiny cry that disrupted the strange entrancement. Mako blinked as the cobwebs instantly lifted from her mind; the presence of Mothra's being gone in a moment as the relatively tiny herald shuddered and spasmed before going limp. As fast as she still was, her son was faster, and caught it as he jumped to his feet. The Shobijin still shifted in his hands as he held them cupped together beneath the creature.

The candles in the room seemed much dimmer in the aftermath of… whatever that had been, to Mako's mind. The lightning outside flashed again, casting the harsh shadows of the various piles of old memories and records across the room. The darkness returned, closer around them but lighter somehow.

"Mothra… touched us. She—was she saying she was preparing for war?" Mako could barely understand what had been said through the herald. It had been like pouring 50 gallons into a five ounce shot glass. Like hearing one of the 'rock concerts' put on by the refugee children in the town being played over a dying gramophone. The base essence of the bare bones of what Mothra was trying to get across, blown out by overwhelming essence through an opening far too small to ever hope to get it across. "Scion… and something about interference with things. Her, and something else."

The shobijin made a small noise as it shuddered again, one that one might hear from a 'cutsey' animal mascot on one of the dreadful American Saturday Morning Cartoons. Then, thankfully, it raised its head, starting to recover in a way that an alcoholic might—wishing that it didn't. Kenta brushed one of it's tiny little fuzzy antennae with a thumb as he considered.

"I have heard that tongue… four times now. Twice, I could not remember. The first because I was a child. The second… was the day I became Lung. It was the moment I gained my powers. The regeneration of my powers kicked in, stopping whatever was erasing the memory. The third time was when Mothra reached through her servant and did… whatever she just did to my powers, and now this."

"She—"

"Something is different. The anger and hate is there, the need to fight. But, changed."

"The priestess wrote something in her note, besides giving a warning of the Yangban," Mako began, stopping as a golden-red glow began in her son's eyes. He waited a few moments for her, then made an inarticulate motion of annoyance with his head as he looked down to the moth in hand then back to her. "She says that they will attempt to attack by the end of the month, left many tickets for various flights to the United States."

"We leave?"

"Mothra is there. You could start over in Brockton Bay, you know. It's a tough city, let the Nazis and the Yangban fight while we work under their noses," Mako pointed out to her son as she pondered openly, rubbing at her back and the pain of the various movements of the night building up in it. "Annette confirmed some of our suspicious in her own notes, along with the still that triggered you. Mothra is having an effect on the ecosystem at large. There will be many opportunities. Her goat of a husband works as a hiring agent as well."

Lung snorted as he considered it. Too many of his old family was in the camp. Monarch agents and researchers, the parahuman tinker, Nemo who helped with their aquatic needs—as diminished as they were in the fading days—was in 'town,' and their families. "We would leave the people here?"

"Bah, no. Mothra's fortunate sons and daughters were her agents in this world, doing her bidding according to myth and legend." Mako exposited with experience, sassing her son again as she elbowed him. A rueful bark of laughter followed as the full implications of the thought hit her, "No wonder she beat you back in the day, she was probably being guided through it all. No, we send the families the Yangban can't know through the air, and we cram everyone else into one of Nemo's ships."

"Rough sailing. Can't be the Nautilus."

"Has to be a surface vessel. Might need to be all of her ships remaining. I know a few escaped while you did battle. She's been smuggling for us."

"She has been of use to my black guild. I need to go apologize to one."

The shobijin chirped, waving a foreleg towards the bedroom of the old matron.

"Oh, and I need to call a meeting with the department heads while you do something else she suggested would be helpful," Mako continued as she noticed the gesture. She looked up to her son again, warily watching as she explained the last part of the earlier warning. "The Fortunate Daughter also 'suggested' that you commune and pray to Rodan."

"Who is dead."

"And so was Mothra. And yet she lives. And yet, she did something to you. You didn't even notice, did you? You're acting more like him again."

Kenta's frown twisted up as he looked down to the fuzzy burden in his hands, who returned the look with somehow expectant eyes as it climbed to its feet. "Am I?"

"You challenged me because you thought I was neglecting my duties."

"I did." Why had he? Had it been the suggestion of abandoning his 'power base'? It could be rebuilt—but the twins weren't a part of—"I did. It is a sound suggestion, so I shall. But first, where did you put the sake?"


	7. One of Mothras Angels Gets Her Wings(3-1

**Chapter Three: One of Mothra's Angels gets Her Wings.**

A child looked up to her elder in the dark of the predawn twilight, steadily breathing as she concentrated on remaining calm for the trial ahead. Many had prepared for the trials; few remained after their humblings. Children found it hard to stay humble and respectful of others, after all. Inexperience with the world created error, error beget disrespect, disrespect caused harm. There had been many trials of spirit and will. She was one of the last two remaining. It would be… acceptable should she fail. She had proven much by getting as far as she had.

Glows emanated from the east, to the north of the coming of the morning sun as their great patron prepared herself for the meeting. Answering that glow came the many returning glows from the ancestor moths who populated the camp with the tribe. They heeded their mother's call and stood as the living testaments of her will to the tribes of the world. The spirits of those who had come before given new life by the will of the world's queen, in her image.

Chants began; members of the tribe lining up along the pathway to the sacred boat landing to speak the reminders of the god-queen's virtues, to cast blessings of protection and mercy upon the two candidates for her living agents to be, to call for protection against the one who was many and whom spoke in innumerable tongues. They stood in the rough-hewn plazas, before the living tents and longhouses, before the rivers from the rock and along the shore of the Great Bay leading into the Sun-Sea. Each had their companion with them, the ancestor moth of their lineage flying about their head or clinging to their form. A congregation from around their world, one world of many that the Mother of All watched over, her blessings be unto each in need. Theirs was the Tribe of Spirit and Soul, bound together from the innumerable peoples of the world who had risked grave and perilous journeys to service her in gladness.

It was those from across the Sun-Sea who had brought with them many of the concepts that had improved the lives of the Tribe and the grand tribe of tribes they were a part of with 'civilization.' Some was sensible, other parts were not. From the southern great-land came tribes called up bearing foods and other ideas, plants that were made for hotter climes that the Mother of All made whole against the cold times. From across the Far-Sea, a rumored year's journey to the west and far across the terrifyingly nearly endless waters came more tribes, who had learned to best use the fertile soils created by Her raising Her Throne off-shore with the help of Her Champion. That had been a terrifying day, and thirty terrifying nights as rock had flowed as water and boiled the sea.

The child would not know fear, though. To fear the other without cause was to invite strife. If the other provided reason to be afraid of them, then they were to be dealt with as she would, each in the number of ways as according to their cause. To be brave and fearless without cause was to invite folly and the machinations of the many-tongued devil. It blinded to the truth of things to act without caution, and eventually led to ruin.

The child's counterpart stood beside her, the two walking down the many steps to their destiny. Before their tribe had known the greater majesty of the Mother of All's power thanks to the newcomers, two had been the tradition. This time, She desired only one agent to be a Fortunate Daughter. The duet was balanced, weighing affairs in turn and their due time. No longer. The trials had been different, created by the many tribes who had come together to form the Tribe. Many things had been taught, questions asked, wisdom pushed into the minds of the impressionable young.

Waves lapped at the shore before the pair, pushed in from offshore with the rising sun. Chill permeated the air as at last the light of the winter solstice broke the horizon and rose into the skies. Song rose up, from the Tribe behind them, and from Her before them, resting in Her Garden on the Newborn Island. The pair was led to the ceremonial stone dock, and to the ship that had been prepared for them. Laden with incense and spice of glad offerings and prepared with a sapphire-colored sail brought by those who crossed the sea to bear her standard. In the past, it would have been a canoe, to be rowed by the potentials. Now, it would be sailed on the wind that slowly turned back to sweep from the land to Her Land.

There would be no others to travel to the Newborn Island that day. Her old chosen had called for a day of preparation and ending of the old. No travel, save for the two who would travel to Her to decide which would be her agent and which would not. A storm was coming, the remaining chosen had warned, one beyond any other that any of the Tribe had ever seen. She had foreseen it, and her agent would end it. Somehow. None doubted, though the skies had been clear for days. Some suspected that it would be the coming of the Destroyer, from the growing golden star in the sky that had been shining ever-brighter for many moons.

Calm seas guided the two potential's way as they sailed; inexpertly, but with the basic skills needed. He circled them, Her King. The two could barely see His signs as He provided protection. Furrowing troughs in the waves formed in the wake of scale-tips larger than nearly any longhouse in the Tribe's lands. His Protection was an omen. He had come to see Her Chosen only in times of great strife. He was the Wrathful Father, the one who controlled the many worlds. Rare was his direct influence, but always was it a portent of his coming wrath and the Change of the Worlds. The last time, the many-tongued devil had convinced one of Her servants to perform a great evil, one that had been cleansed with the eternally-burning flame for the Heresy against the worlds.

The two continued their journey into the morning sun, towards the still-smoldering newborn mountain lush with the green of Her Garden. Behind them the chants of the people slowly faded away to indistinct whispers, then disappeared beneath the angry grumble of the wind roiling the waves against the seaward shore of the Newborn Island and the deep rumble of His movements beneath the waves as He continued to circle warily. It would be the pair, and the gods now. Alone at sea. The sun rose higher as they sailed slowly on, clearing the horizon and rising almost in-time with the progress of the pair; a herald for their progress as they left the familiar and bountiful waters of the bay and entered the stranger waters of the Sun-Sea on approach to Newborn Island. The choppier waters of the deep channel rocked their boat, putting the concern of capsizing into their minds as the great blue-green waves began to pile up as the fierce winds from down the mountains of the mainland and the smoking mountain of the island dueled. Once, they could bear witness to Him in His full glory as the seas themselves parted into a great hole that nearly pulled their boat in, only for Him to plow through it as He almost crawled along the seafloor. Each of the bases of His great spine-scales glowed with His Light in turn from tail to head, His eyes glowing the terrible blue of His Wrath as He looked to the day-star above angrily before His form was lost within the waves once more. Now, they began to understand, and know fear. The one of many names glowed with the terrible brightness of the day-star. If He was prepared for battle on the day of Her Choosing, then there were dark omens. Not a day of celebration, but of pre-emptive mourning for the Tribe.

It was difficult on the final approach to Her Garden, for the Great Warm Current coming north from around the Southern Hook and from around the Southland of the White Sands still pushed strong even as far north as they were. With it came the winds of the south blowing along with the current, and the two were forced to do battle to push south around the bend of the island into the sheltered cove of Her Garden. A sudden cloud erupted from the summit of the smoking mountain, followed by a terrible cry as Her Champion stepped forth from the place of his slumber. Rodan stood, imperiously watching over them from above as the rock that flowed like water burned white-hot channels down the mountainsides. He cried out again, his warbling roar of anger and defiance now directed straight at the pair of aspirants in challenge of their presence.

"We have been called by the Mother of All. We come in answer to Her Call, having passed Her Trials!" The two responded at the top of their voices against his cry, silencing him. They desired greatly that it was their voices that he heard, and not His Voice, which shortly followed them with the Skreee-ronk of His Anger at being defied.

Rodan bowed to his King, spreading his wings wide and low to the burning summit. Behind them, the shadow of His majesty loomed above them as the pair at last landed their boat against the prepared dock of the shore. Darkness shrouded them; His shadow behind, the gloom of Her Garden and the towering tree-cloud of his eternal anger erupting from the summit far above. Their journey would not be to that doom, though. Her Light glowed from a shrouded clearing three-quarters of the way up the mountainside, the sanctuary from which She ruled all Her subjects. They stepped away from their conveyance as He approached, looming as a mountain above them. Gazes met, golden-red eyes shimmering ever-so-slightly with the corona of His Wrath looking down into two terrified young girls who were suddenly worried that He was a jealous husband to Her. His eyes changed somehow, growing kinder for a moment to glance up to Her sanctuary, before He nodded almost imperceptibly and turned to glare up into the skies and the now clearly approaching threat.

Having been given what appeared to be His Blessing, the pair began the arduous trek up the rough-hewn black steps into the jungle of Her Garden, towards Her sanctuary. Long indeed, was it, with terrible burning mists rising up from the ground on occasion as Rodan began his trials of the pair. The ground quaked as like the sea would as he exerted his will once more upon the Newborn Island, spreading it further with each passing moment. The pair crossed a river of rock burning like fire on a bridge of solid stone; passed by terrible creatures called up from some other Earth, one too scarring to the mind to keep in memory; through a glade of stinging and devouring plants, ones that bore terrible thorns and tempted with sweet incenses. Each trial of the gods challenging their bravery, cunning, and tenacity of the pair. One responded with strength, with protective fighting, and with making use of the environment; the other with foresight and cunning, planning ahead and striking with brutal and terrible efficiency when given no other choice. Together, they climbed for hour after hour, coming ever closer to the glade and to the fiery doom of the summit. Until, at last, they had arrived at the top of the path to bear witness to Her Glory.

"Hail, Mosura, Queen of the Gods. Hail, Mothra, the Mother of All and Bringer of Good."

And so, Mosura rose from her throne of webs, climbing down to inspect those who were prepared to become the agents of Her Will in the world at large. Her wings were as unto the greatest of the great tent's spreads as those tents were to mere bedsheets; Her six limbs strong with experience and clacking with each step as Her towering form pushed straight through the soft, mossy bed of the clearing of Her Court; Her Eyes, their glittering sapphire faceted forms pierced all, metal, stone, and flesh to see the soul; Her antennae, they glowed with Her Light as She slowly lowered herself to lay before the girls and look at them nearly eye-to-eye. She rumbled sweetly to them as she saw straight through their souls and transfixed them beyond any hope of hiding any part of their being from her. Sweet coos of encouragement were rumbled at them as Mothra waited for Her Chosen to make their move.

It would be the one who had been foresightful and cunning who moved first, stepping forward and embracing the strange fur coating her goddess as Her Warmth filled her mind from the touch. It was a miracle of emotion, filling her with the inexplicable sense that everything would be alright, so long as she trusted her goddess. A sense of the trials to come filled her, the dread of a time when Mosura's Guidance would not be there to light her way, the horror of knowing that she would stray from the path, and the hope-filling of knowing that she had been already forgiven and that the light would come again filled her.

Rocks tumbled behind them, cracking together with the clatter of rock. A deep rumble touched them all as a fourth individual made himself known. A great turtle of stone and fire, a protector of earth, a guardian spirit, the Knight Protector of the court of gods. Gamera, the guardian.

And he stared at them, or rather the unchosen one. Golden eyes bored down into brownish-grey eyes, and the great turtle nodded. His rumbling, crackling question to Mothra went without understanding by the two humans present, but the response was felt through their souls. Zoethia, she who would be a fierce warrior and a staunch protector, would go with the guardian Knight Protector. He had need of a chosen just as Mosura's Will would need to be enforced in the coming storm. He would guide her through the worlds between worlds, to the place where she would be inserted into a new civilization to play her own part in what would be to come, learning from afar. And one day, the two who were sisters by the blood of the covenant would be rejoined as the appointed hour drew near.

Zoethia turned to she who would be Fortuna and smiled sadly, apologizing and saying her farewells together, "Goodbye, my sister of choice. As they have spoken, so it shall be. It has been a glad time together, but all things must end. You have done well for yourself. May Her Light stand between you and the dark places you must walk, as his fire stand as my shield against the threats I will face in his name."

"Goodbye, my sister of choice. As they have chosen, so it shall be. I will pray that the day of our reunion shall be soon indeed. Go with Gamera, and may the rock of his truths stand as your sword against those he would pit you against; as the light of Her Will shall illuminate the way away from the temptations to come in the dark places that I must walk."

And Zoethia was gone, Gamera with her. The otherworldly realm of the World Between Worlds opened behind them, and it was as if neither was ever there. The fortunate daughter of Mosura was left with her patron, high atop Her Garden. She would be returned to her home upon the wings of Mothra, being given the place of honor in riding her back to take part in the pre-mortality wake of Mosura's Tribe and the death of Her Earth at the fall of the Interloper.

Fortuna would spend those last few hours between the arrival of her Goddess and the fall to the Newborn Island of the Interloper upon her destiny in a desperate attempt to grow as many fond memories of her family as she could, committing each member to memory. Even Mothra, her surrogate God-Mother to come. Then the dark times came; and Eden with them. And a little girl who became the Priest-Queen of Mosura's will would grow up to become a devil in a dark hat marching a bloody Path to Victory, slowly forgetting all that she had been for a time as she grew caught up in being too busy trying to march to the path of an enemy unseen to recognize that it was in her own head. She forgot that she was Fortuna, the Chosen of Mosura and daughter of Mothra; instead being Contessa, ender of Eden.

And walking along a Path spoken to her by three tongues.


	8. Fedora Woman (3-2)

**Fedora Woman** : (Alias: Unknown. Cape Nomenclature Assigned due to lack of Known Identity)

Estimate PRT Threat Rating: Thinker 12+ (Near-Perfect Precognition and response), Master 5-7 (Shobijin Moth Projection/Summon), Blaster 4 (Summon's Beam Attack), Striker 3 (Summon's Shobijin Venom, and various tinker weaponry), Brute 3(?)(Regeneration, may be Tinkertech) (Estimate based on known feats, see: Battle of Brockton Bay; Kuricho Block Slaughter; Japan Refugee Camp 12 Hesei Block Battle).

Age: 35-45 (?)

Height: 5' 7" (170 Centimeters)

Weight: 150-180 pounds (68-81 kg)

Affiliations: Monarch (Presumed Associate Due to Familiarity); 'Cauldron' (Apocryphal); Mothra Cult (Has Identified as a 'Herald of Mosura'); Unknown Extreme Tinker (Has teleportation technology, a litany of tinkertech weapons, personal defense equipment, and other indications of being backed by a high-end tinker).

Place of Origin: Unknown. Personal Statements Indicate PoO was Destroyed.

Common Sighting Locations: Global. Has been seen on every continent, and on Earth Aleph, and one-off encounters with Earth He, Vav, Tet, and others. Only known common locations are Los Angeles, and Brockton Bay.

Physical Description: Eyewitness reports and what little camera footage exists of the Fedora Woman suggest that she is of a vaguely Native American/Italian descent, with black hair. She appears to be sturdily built based on the fit of her clothing, however due to her nature it is uncertain if this is true or if it is a further illusion she has created to add another layer to her identity. In her original confirmed sightings, she wore a black business suit with a white undershirt and black tie; however in more recent confirmed sightings she has been seen wearing first a grey suit, then a white silk business suit, now with an aqua blue/green tie, sometimes with golden Mothra Cult cufflinks and lapel pins. Consistently, however, she has worn the black wide-brim fedora for which she has been given a preliminary name and a pair of mirrored glasses. There are multiple fedoras she has been known to wear and may signify how she intends to approach a situation. One, the 'burned fedora' is almost exclusively worn in her combat sightings, usually when she equips herself with heavy-duty tinkertech combat gear and goes for lethality. The 'Silk Fedora' appears to be from the same source as her current outfit, just dyed black with a red headband and a dagger-like metallic scale tucked into the band like a feather; usually associated with her known sightings in association with Monarch. Third is the 'Fedora of Mercy', her own description, which is a wider-brimmed black fedora made of an unknown material with a Mothra-blue headband and two feathers tucked into the band in a manner that suggest moth antennae; typically used when she rescues someone in need of aid or is sighted attempting to deal with an issue without causing collateral damage. There are others, but are usually one-offs (the 'Cheezedora'), destroyed during her sighting, or have no discernible pattern of behavior associated with them. She has come to be more visible due to having picked up a glowing projection of a Shobijin moth (typically Blue) of unusual size sometime just before her first on-camera confirmed appearance.

Behavioral Description: Known for being highly secretive, the only descriptor that the Fedora Woman will give is that she is a 'Herald of Mosura, a Fortunate Daughter doing Her Will' whenever asked. Beyond giving this answer, it can be difficult to say how she will react in any encounter if she is not wearing one of the fedoras known to be associated with a behavioral pattern. Due to her believed Thinker Power (testimony from Lung, Others), any overall behavioral analysis is difficult at best as any behavior may only be adopted thanks to using her precognition. Lung calls it a 'Path to Victory,' and given her utterly undefeated track record, it may be accurate.

Burnt Fedora: Her demeanor is typically nonexistent. She will either not be seen until she strikes with perfectly aimed lethal force, or she is utterly robotic when seen, as if having shut off her emotions and entirely running on her power. No step is wasted, no interaction unnecessary. Best described as 'the Boogey-Woman' when wearing the Burnt Fedora. She does not seem to care about collateral damage, or any other concerns other than achieving her objective. In this state, she is known to answer questions before they are asked, respond to events without any known way of knowing that something is happening, and is generally a 'force of nature'. When she does show emotion, it is usually a mix of petty annoyance when forced to divert from her objective (with petty responses of varying severity depending on level of diversion and the relation of the one who diverted her to her objective), triumph, and total rage in which she begins chanting in an unknown language (usually when directly engaging her objective). This is the state that has revealed the most about her associations and powers. It is believed to be a state where she considers the situation to be completely out of control and deserving of any answer beyond the normal restraint in weaponry and responses she typically shows. Tinkertech weaponry of nearly invariably lethal configuration, a supernatural knowledge of exactly what to do to destroy her objective, and otherwise being entirely unstoppable. Prior to the Hesei Incident of 2001, this appears to have been her primary state, changing only when her other signature, her Shobijin partner projection, appeared. The only known surviving target of this state is Lung, who provided the most compelling evidence for her rating and confirmed her activity back to 1995. Other witnesses of this state include Director Piggot of PRT ENE in Brockton Bay when she was involved in the Ellisburg Scourging, ….

© Encyclopedia Parahumanitas, December 2009

* * *

Six men stared across the customs mail room at their killer-to-be as she stepped out of a doorway in space and time. Each of the Yangban agents had been sent to recover the letter that had been described to them by their embedded agent inside the Boston USPS customs office; thinking that there would be no need for cape support. The assessment was wrong, of course. But no number of capes would have saved them from Contessa.

Speak the correct sentence.

"Slit your own throats to give yourselves an honorable death for your failure, so that you do not have to report the full depth of your humiliation to your ancestors when you arrive in the afterlife," She forewarned in their own language as the six men looked across the thirty feet of the length of the customs room to her. None of their faces was visible through the black ski masks they wore, and their tactical gear was painfully generic in design over all-charcoal grey fatigues. Deniable, forgettable, doomed.

Wait for their valiant leader to respond.

The lead man of the team on the north side of the mail customs room, on her right side, raised his sidearm—Glock of forgettably generic design, silenced with a heavy silencer—and pointed it at her as he harshly responded to her terms of their annihilation. "Woman, leave or die. Or just die."

Step to the left, turn to the right 90 degrees while maintaining eye contact, speak the correct sentences.

Contessa moved as her power commanded and added in a look of derision as she effortlessly dodged the bullet. It failed to disturb her hat or her hair while whizzing past to ricochet off of one of the many closed large cubbyboxes meant to stage letters for being bagged for international traffic. Bouncing from the thick steel with an audible clang and dent, it arced up and out, breaking another one of the many windows set above the second level of the room. No witnesses would hear it, as they had been diverted by the power failure she had caused earlier, and other factors. Wind rushed in, scattering some of the un-handled letters as the storm outside joined the little party. "You die last, then. After I kill each and every one of your men."

"Kill her!"

Contessa fully embraced the path as the fire team charged her. Release throwing knife from concealed sleeve holster, insert into squad XO's right eye via straight arm toss with her left arm. Use new position of arm to brace while kicking off from the ground into a somersault over the central mail machine. While coming down, kick back with right leg into face of the squad's H2H expert.

The straight throwing knife disappeared into the sergeant's head through his eyeball, sending blood everywhere as he collapsed nearly instantly from the blood loss and brain damage. Bullets bounced from ricochets as the squad reacted with otherwise admirable efficiency to the order but missed as the cape was already not there. Behind her, the martial artist who had recognized what she had been starting found a metal-lined shoe heel arcing down with the full force of Contessa's flip into his nose. The man could barely cry out in pain as the force of the impact shattered his nose and cracked his upper jaw before snapping his head down and forwards to smash his lower jaw against his collarbone. He collapsed from there, getting that same shoe raised up, only to stomp down again to smash his throat flat once he was prone on the ground. First two down.

Ducking, the fedora-wielding precognitive avoided the next bullet from the squad leader as she forced the entry expert to rapidly adjust his aim downwards to compensate as he stepped forwards. A compartment on the wall burst open behind her with the impact of a bullet into the locking mechanism, spilling open the contents after just missing her previous location. Adjusting rapidly, her next move was a directed strike into the knee of the specialist, leaving him gasping in pain as his knee was dislocated. Follow up with the other fist struck upwards at an angle into his crotch to cut his ragged gasp off with the sudden and total cessation of noise due to unimaginable pain. The collapsing man's gun dropped into her first hand, and she followed up with two shots to the knees of the next man, punching through his kneecaps and sending him collapsing down in pain, leaving her with cover from the remaining two members of the team to get back into a ready stance.

She continued with the next correct line. "Make it quicker upon yourselves."

"Squad two, heavy cape present. Thinker, combat-worthy rating. Engage to destroy." The radio clicked off as Contessa came to the realization that her power would have her wade through an ocean of blood again. It was becoming alarmingly frequent.

Three of the remaining windows in the top floor burst open as twelve more men began crashing into the room, this time armed with heavy rifles. Contessa directed the remainder of her weapons ammunition into disabling the weapons of those on the balcony overlooking her position in rapid succession with shots to their firing chambers before throwing the empty gun over her head. Multiple shots rang out as the movement caused reactions, and she moved. Two more of the handguns were in her hands as she dove across the relatively narrow section of the aisle to grab onto the somewhat recessed ladder in the exit hallway. Short bursts of fire rained past her as the backup team attempted to respond to the movement, blasting craters in the cheap drywall of the hallway and the cheaper linoleum of the floor. Protected by the steel beam wrapped in a drywall sheath supporting the second floor, she shoved one gun in a coat pocket and carried the other in hand as she climbed the ladder. A shot upwards on her power's direction sent a member of the heavy squad plummeting to the ground as it pierced up through his throat and into the brainstem. Shouts surrounded her as others attempted to move into position.

A shot was directed over her shoulder with her held weapon as she cleared the level of the second floor with her shoulders, blowing a hole through someone's combat boot with a scream. The second went through the underside of his jaw and up into his brainpan, silencing him. Proceeding upwards, she twisted to her right with an extended arm, effectively pistol-whipping the next trooper in the face. Duck by 30 centimeters, retract arm to avoid spalling from suppressing fire. Ignore dying screams of fool dumb enough to approach her position.

Oddly aggressive for her agent. Almost agitated. Why?

Ignore internal color commentary. Throw knife from right sleeve at leading fireteam member at an angle to stab into grip wrist.

Contessa put the concern to the back of her mind to focus on surviving the ambush that PtV had allowed her to Door into. The screams of agony as a knife seemingly blossomed from the hand of the north six's leader were also ignored as she followed up with both of her stolen guns to disable their weapons with shots to the chambers and then shots to the side of each, expending the remaining ammunition in both weapons. With the hostile firearms count reduced, she continued by aggressively turning around the corner and throwing the pistols at the remaining three attackers on her side of the upper level to distract then immediately engaging further.

Knife from quick-draw holster at back. Aggressively move forward with show snarl to first victim. Grab rifle with right hand, pull past to defuse danger. Press to opponent's body, knife to right armpit. Twist to maximize blood-loss.

With a yowl of pain and a grunt as the astoundingly large 'tactical' knife was jabbed into one of the key arteries of his body, the soldier hooked his other arm around Contessa and tried to spin her around with his dying breaths as his blood poured from the wound. His killer used the momentum to rip her knife free of his body, then pulled specifically on his rifle as he started to collapse in order to spray a burst through the jerk of his hand against the trigger. For his trouble, the knife was jabbed into and out of his kidney on that side to cut him off with further pain before getting yanked back out again as Contessa moved once more.

Knee impact to railing-side gunman. Follow through with sweep-out of leg in follow up. Finish with knife to throat. Abandon to hear him attempt to breathe. Tilt by five degrees to the left to avoid next bullet from his teammate. Lunge. Grab weapon by barrel shroud, pull through. Position fist to meet throat on the way through. Allow the push, then twist using the momentum and movement of elbow to cause internal _decapitation._

A sickening crack; a hollow thud; the sound of rushing feet, urgently coming. The remaining six members of the heavy support team rushed from both sides of the upper level catwalk, looking to close on her to engage. They had discarded their damaged rifles as they saw the way that she had used them to kill their comrades and had all drawn knives and batons. Blue flashed with the thunder of the storm, then persisted for a moment more through the broken windows as the backup power of the facility failed.

Ignore the potential interloper. Engage with target to the left by lunging forward towards them. Arm guard against wide chop. Other fist shall be employed to strike at shoulder, weakening it when at full extension. Follow-up by stomping 2.5 centimeters behind the steel toe to break the bones of the foot for maximum distraction via pain. Continue by hooking foot around back of ankle, then pushing with guard arm and punching in the face while pulling foot from underneath victim. Eliminate with triple stomp to stomach, face, and throat.

The next two infiltrators advanced as the latest victim died with gurgles from his collapsing throat. In the darkness, they thought that their integrated night vision systems in their helmets would help them defeat her. Perhaps they should have remembered that the squad leader had warned of her suspected thinker abilities. Darkness came, with only the fitful flashes of battery-powered alarm lights and the ambient lighting to cast horrid glimpses of what was going on.

Flash. The first infiltrator from the other side screaming in pain as Contessa twisted his baton around in a manner that dislocated his arm at the elbow and shoulder. Darkness.

Flash. One man being bodily thrown from the upper level onto the sortation table/machine below with a scream, his face gushing crimson from a slash from his own knife meant to agonize him long enough to throw him off balance. Darkness.

Flash. One man accidentally stabbing another, having been slung around the fedora-wearing nemesis after getting kicked and smashed with a baton. Darkness. Flash. The faint shadow of the fedora-wraith behind them both, cracking one man's arm using two batons and the momentum of the pain as leverage. Darkness, yet light.

Faintly, a cry was heard over the commotion as a dusky blue light rapidly grew in brightness throughout the room. A cry of anger. A cry of reckoning. A cry of forgiveness, and reconciliation. The cry of Mothra in miniature, a Shobijin of Mosura swooping into the room at full glow despite its waterlogged nature. Darkness was washed away without fear as every remaining conscious individual looked up at the baffling sight circling the room.

**[**Well then. I guess she has not yet learned the depths of her failure. **This simply won't do at all.** Reprioritization. Vault the railing five steps behind you. Land on the individual standing there, divest him of his weapon, then aim at the specified coordinates. Place five rounds into the interloper and prepare to terminate all remaining combatants.**]**

NO! Contessa reeled as the juxtaposition of the sign she had been waiting for for so long and what her Path demanded she do crashed her out of her Path-Trance. An oppressive weight fell upon her mind as her agent attempted to get her back on it's assigned Path once again. The lost daughter stumbled in a jumble of shock at seeing divine intervention, the terror that she might be forced to kill it, and the smack of the baton into her face as one of the operatives took advantage of her distraction.

"Aurgh! Dat was by nobes, dou Wholf-cocked Son of a Whore!" Hypocrisy, thy name was Contessa at that moment as a reflexive pain reflex made her grab her broken nose and stumble backwards.

**[Assuming Direct Control. Vault the railing seven steps to your right. Divest the victim of his firearm and KILL THE SHOBIJ-$%####~]**

A scream of tiny, mothy rage followed; one bearing a gold and blue beam of energy as the Herald of the God-Queen proceeded to explain why it was forbidden to lay hands on one of the Fortunate Daughters. For being all of 10 inches long and a foot and a half wide, the Herald-Moth hit Contessa's attacker with enough force to blow him off his feet to skid several yards into a wall where he slumped. Contessa had just enough time to recognize that the Shobijin had changed course before she found herself with an urgent and somewhat unpleasant case of Moth-to-the-Face. Not a medical condition for the faint of heart.

[_Apologies. TRIGGERING._]

**[_Destination._] [_Trajectory._] [_Agree-_]**

[_Interfacing. Hijacking. Heck off, you overgrown abominations, and get the hell out of my daughter's head._]

Pain flooded Contessa's mind as the Shobijin channel for Mosura forcibly tore open a psionic link and Triggered her for the second time. The Path to Victory could be felt through her Gemma and Potella screaming in shard-speak pain as a power on par with it and the entities began to reconfigure the great thing of crystal-flesh into something that could receive otherworldly energies from a being of will. Blue-green energy burst from Contessa, blowing off her hat and washing over the entire room as a presence she had long forgotten touched her once more.

**[NO! SHE IS MINE, YOU FILTHY THING!]**

[_Oh, Honeybunches, you silly bastards. I'd say go to hell, but you're already there. Aren't you? Now get the hell out of my daughter's head, too._]

**[Your time is O-]**

If I may butt in, my master is the light of my soul, and she saw this day coming long before there was a Path. Now-

There was a ping of a handgun bullet ricocheting off of solid steel that interrupted the conversation as the other remaining member of the original infiltration team attempted to hit her in the moth-lit gloom. The shobijin, fully immersed with her Mothra's spirit, crawled off of Contessa's face and onto the top of her head before raggedly yowling it's mothy cry of anger. Two bickering gods, otherwise divided and fighting to be the one on top, agreed on one thing:

**[Sh**_oot_** th**_at_** id**_iot_**_ in the ass!_]**

[_And don't forget your hat, dearie. You seem to like it._]

A multitude of paths to her objective bloomed into Contessa's mind as the intellect of Mosura, an already formidable precognitive force, proceeded to optimize her Paths to Victory and give her the power of choice once more. A single, golden path burned amongst the thicket of paths, oppressively pulling at her until the lost daughter pushed it away with the help of her rediscovered patron. The golden voice in three-parts grew tinny and distant, fading into a speck on the background of her mind—but not disappearing entirely. HE would need to be dealt with some day, alongside answering many questions. Until then—

Contessa re-set her nose, squeezing the blood from it as she glared at the various foes of her appointed duty. None of the operators were quite certain what to do, afraid to advance lest they be struck down by the terrifying laser-moth. A slightly crumpled fedora was swept up off of the floor by her hand as she reached down, then shook it out to clean off some of the dust. The pint of Mothra took off for a moment to allow the headwear to be rakishly emplaced back in place.

[_Now then, might I recommend playing along the path a bit farther? Perhaps, a warning that they should have run earlier?_]

"Miss Mothra is most upset, you know. Unfortunately for you, she feels like being merciful."

The various remaining upright members of the heavy squad nervously looked at each other as the statement crashed out of parsing. Be afraid of mercy? "What is that supposed to mean, you madwoman?" The remaining senior member demanded in a provocative Chinese phrase that didn't quite mean that.

Micro-Mothra glowed brighter, and for just a moment so did Contessa as the power of her patron touched her. Metal shrieked as the safety railing on the ladder pit she had reached back to hold on found itself suddenly wrenched from the wall as Contessa leveraged the power freely leant to her. Air whistled, and five beaten and bruised men watched with dawning comprehension as the improvised staff was twirled around her and brought into a ready position. The rage was no longer on the fedora-wraith's face; only cold, detached determination. She spoke quietly, forcing down the rage that the thing that had been using her through her power had forced upon her, "It means that I will make you plead for death rather than give it to you."

"Oh." It would be all the unfortunate man would have time for before the first whip-crack strike of the rail-staff cracked against his left side, doubling him over in pain. The withdrawl of the strike was faster than should have been possible, followed by two more strikes, one to each of his kneecaps with carefully calibrated strength that broke both of them without doing further damage. As he went down in breathless pain, his hands seemingly erupted with pain as his baton and blood-stained knife were hit with inhuman force to break his grip and his fingers.

Behind Contessa, who had turned to face her first target of her hijacked power, the next fool in line found himself doubled over in pain as the strike shattered the strike plate of his ballistic vest and drove the wind out of him. The next strike came as Contessa whirled around and planted the staff on his foot before kneeing him in the diagonal wound path of her earlier gunshot through his side. A blast of gold-blue light from between the antennae of Mothra's vessel drove him into unconsciousness with a projection of pain into him. Contessa's staff twirled end over end by the skilled movements of her arms as she stepped into the path of her childhood training, sweeping around and shattering his knee as she used his somewhat slippery body to turn around and face the next one coming up.

[_Don't mind me, dearie. You handle that on our agreed upon path while I kiss the next one._]

Contessa felt the departure of Mothra's vessel from her head as it hopped aloft and dove for the next man behind her. With the departure, the golden path that she didn't want to follow pressed back down upon her and stiffened her movements. An unready mind was the plaything of the unwelcome. Steady it. Fear not that for which you do not have cause to fear. Be not overly fearless either, lest the Golden Devil find purchase. Recovering from her split-second hesitation, she mentally grabbed onto the path she had previously selected and acted upon it. Once, twice, thrice she alternated blows from the tips of her staff against the torso of her next opponent, breaking his arms against his sides and then sweeping him into the railing of the catwalk where he slumped into unconsciousness.

"Augh! The demon-moth stung-arg! Augh!" The victim of Mothra's sting broke down into unintelligible screaming as her stinger's venom rapidly took effect and rapidly began activating every single pain receptor it could get in contact with. Tiny web-shots blinded his cracked low-profile nightvision to leave him to scratch at his body as a thousand different kinds of pain wracked his whole arm until he curled up in a ball on the ground whimpering about what was happening to him.

Recognizing that he was distinctly about to go through horrible suffering, the last man standing on the upper floor promptly decided that discretion was the better part of valor. Better to go running to the Americans than be turned into tenderized human and given spicy flavoring. He turned and started to run, his back to Contessa for a second too long before she extended her reach and smashed the end of her pole into his helmet in an overhead downwards swing that concussed him through the protection of his helmet's padding and dropped him to the floor. His unconsciousness wasn't blessed, but it was a thankful end to his suffering.

Below, the three operatives remaining had a few moments to hear the shouts of terror and pain before Contessa flung herself over the side of the upper level in a flip that let her plow down onto the wounded heavy team member she had tossed down earlier, practically flattening him with her weight. Her improvised staff lacerated the victim's face as she brutally cracked it against his head and put him into a concussed unconsciousness. Chills were the companions of the other two as she stood up from her latest victim, raising her staff one-handed at the last subordinate of the original infiltration team to single him out. "You."

"Me?"

"Yes, you. Mothra demands that you be shot. Since I am now feeling merciful, I will make it supremely humiliating instead of lethal. You may attempt to run."

For all of his many faults as a member of the PSC's armed forces, one of those faults was not a lack of bravery. A complete lack of 'common' sense and an unwillingness to recognize when mercy was being extended over an angry moth's objections, but in the grand scheme of things once locked into a relatively small box with a 'Thinker: Yes,' the uncommon sense of common sense wasn't much of a help. The man decided to take up one of the discarded pistols to defend himself, diving into a crouch to try and grab a gun from one of the previous fallen. Shouts from his commander were silenced with pain as the man was batted aside by his divine nemesis appointed by Mothra, and a shadow fell upon him prior to the fedora-wearing wraith's landing in the space between the operative and the gun. The staff swept over, cracking against the halpless operative's elbow and shocking him with pain before the handgun he had been reaching for was yanked back by the other tip as Contessa followed through with her twirling swing and reversed it back to bring the gun to her.

Mothra fed her a pithy line, and a sense of melodrama that had been entirely lacking in her life for far too long rose up within Contessa as she chose to act on her own for the first time in seeming eons. "I must apologize. The option of mercy was extended and rejected. Therefore, Mothra has asked that you know the pain in the thorax that she has been putting up with for the last thirty years." One last bang resounded in the room, followed by the agonized screaming of the operative as Contessa followed through on the promise she had made to her God. Mercifully, it was barely even a flesh wound, just aimed right across a sensitive bundle of nerves.

Looking down, Contessa spotted the letter she had come to the mail room to destroy and recognized it for what it was as Mothra helpfully adjusted the Path to reflect its true nature. "Annette Hebert to Mako Sherizawa? Ah, your baby pictures." Her god in miniature pouted and protested, crossing her forelimbs and grumpily adjusting various other features like wings and antennae. "Oh, you didn't let her take any?"

There was a clatter of metal as the leader of the infiltrators struggled to climb up into a position where he could lean on the sortation machine's tabletop. The man looked like hell, likely because of the multiple hits that Contessa had contused him with, and partially gurgled his growled question at her as he glared through his broken goggles. "Who… are… you?"

Contessa politely bowed to him, falling back upon her training from so long before. "I am a Fortunate and Repentant Daughter of Mosura. One who has returned to her senses. I have no further quarrel with you, and I leave you to have 'fun' with the Americans. Now, I must depart, I have a Door to catch to Brockton Bay."

A shimmering rectangular portal to another stormy night-bound city appeared behind Contessa as she saluted him with a gesture of her improvised staff, and she took a step backwards through it, turning around as she did. "Now, now, ma'am, how am I going to convince Mako to believe Mrs. Hebert without proof? That I can tease you with them in the future after this is all over is simply an incredible coincidence, I would never take baby photos of you for the sake of it, you-"

The portal shut, leaving a chorus of groans, whines, and agonized gurgles behind to accompany the dead and those who wished they were merely dead. Then, footsteps. Many footsteps, thundering down the hallways through the building towards the customs room. A glowing figure smashed the door on the south side of the room open as the lead member of the response team burst in with parahuman energies and a gun at the ready.

"This is Snaggle of the USPS Enforcement Service, FREEZE! You are—what in San Juan Hill happened in here?"


	9. CAULDRON (3-3)

Cauldron: (Noun, Conspiracy Theory)

….. Similar to the long-standing belief in world-controlling groups such as the 'Illuminati,' the post-parahuman urban legend of Cauldron has remained enduring. No-one is entirely certain where the belief in the group originated, save for fragmentary records from the turn of the millennium in web archives and other locations. Indeed, attempts at large-scale conspiracy such as the 2008 Election Scandal (_Citation Link_) shows that the very concept of a world-controlling organization is impossible. Furthermore, there remains no known manner by which to induce a Parahuman Trigger Event as is suggested that the group can create in some of the lesser-known alternative expansions upon the Cauldron Conspiracy Theory (_Citation Link_). There may be a secretive organization attempting to manipulate events in order to counter the Endbringers such as the Ziz outside of the East Coast Exclusion Zone (_Citation Link_), but such a group would be by necessity small and tightly knit to avoid being revealed, and certainly not as large or expansive as the legend tells.

©Wikipedia, November 2009.

_Last Edited By: Fabhat, October 31st, 2009._

* * *

Rebecca Costa-Brown prided herself on being relatively unflappable; a byproduct of her secret identity as Alexandria, and as one of the nominal heads of the Cauldron Conspiracy. It had been slowly burned into her through her nearly two decades helping to lead the fight against the various would-be warlords looking to tear society down and preparing to fight Scion when he finally decided it was time to stop playing with humanity. It had been seared into her soul the day she had witnessed a close friend be flash-vaporized by the Behemoth when he originally emerged.

So, it was saying quite a bit about the strangeness of the sight when Contessa had opened a Door to Cauldron HQ inside her PRT office, a clear indicator of an emergency meeting, and was standing at the head of the primary meeting table with—"Why… in the actual fuck… why is there a disturbingly large moth on your head?"

"It is part of the path. I will explain once the others arrive."

A second Door opened a moment later, and the darker form of 'Doctor Mother' stepped through from the bowels of Cauldron's testing labs with a clipboard, seemingly having not even realized that a Door had been in the way. The confused woman looked around at the sudden change in scenery after a few steps, fixating on Rebecca. "Why did you call an emergency meeting, Rebecca?"

"I didn't, she did." Rebecca countered somewhat weakly as she pointed across the room to Contessa.

The would-be doctor turned her gaze and stopped with a scruntching of her lips as she processed the unusual sight. "A Shobijin moth. They had some form of symbiotic relationship with the Titan, Mothra. I haven't seen one in nearly a decade, not since the only island they could live on was sunk by the Endbringers in that 'attack.'"

"A what?" David asked as he arrived in-costume himself, having flown right through the Door high above Dallas. He remarkably reacted with even less aplomb than the first two, powering up a combat blaster power based on Legend's abilities as he saw Contessa's new passenger. "Hold still, there's a master projection on your head."

"David, stand down."

"We need to get it off of you before it starts doing something."

"It's a natural creature, David. One that hasn't been seen on Bet for close to a decade, but still… 'natural,' if such a word applies to an overgrown super-creature."

David turned to Doctor Mother, still powered up and ready on an itchy trigger-finger. "It's a what?"

Contessa bent her head over as she turned to face David, leaning it to the side. "It is a Shobijin moth, David. Our people, Doctor Mother and I, called them Ancestor Moths, as they were believed to be the physical manifestations of our departed relatives' souls."

The slightly elderly 'doctor' glared at the heart of Cauldron, irritated that she was being roped into the oddities of the normally quite overly stoic thinker. "Leave me out of this. I only sailed in a few months before Eden arrived, and I had been out on the other side of the mountains."

Rebecca slowly looked between the two founding members of the group as a new dynamic was revealed. Paul and David beside her were similarly somewhat befuddled, and they were busily looking between each other as they attempted to parse the new revelations. They knew that the two had come from a relatively undeveloped Earth, where the two had somehow met before the Entities had arrived. The Earth they had placed Cauldron HQ upon, above the caldera in which the creature had fallen and created her 'garden of flesh,' as some of the few helping staff had come to call it.

David's charged attack wavered, then returned to form as he steeled himself. "Contessa, you have yet to give me a reason why I should not assume you have been mastered."

Paul began to glow slightly himself, nodding in annoyance at the implications. "David, as reckless and foolhardy as he is, has a point." "HEY!" "May we focus? This is a rather extreme departure from your normal behavior."

Contessa smiled in an enigmatic fashion to them, then spoke. "What is the difference between the signs of someone being mastered, and someone recovering from more than a decade of being mastered?"

Oh, that wasn't good. Rebecca didn't even want to think of the utter catastrophe that Contessa was implying. If she had been mastered for more than a decade, then literally all of their plans were—

"Yes, Rebecca, our plans were wrong." And there Contessa went again, answering questions that hadn't been voiced at all. That was always nice and creepy. "Because we accepted the Path fed to me with little to no question. The path from the Warrior's counterpart. Why, precisely, did it take divine intervention to get us to question it?"

David's offensive power finally failed as he comprehended what Contessa was saying. "Hang on just a sec-"

"Yes, David. The Path to Victory was a poisoned fruit. But it gets worse."

Doctor Mother shakily wobbled over to her customary chair in the stunned silence following the statement of fact, taking her seat. "So, how bad does it actually get? Was it all for—"

Contessa shook her head. "It would lead to victory. But, the most pyrrhic victory possible. The agents… well, we know that they are a distributed intelligence in some way, yes?"

Paul looked to the others, who warily cast sidelong glances to the person they had assumed would be the architect of saving the human race. "News to me. I know they can connect with each other, but…" He trailed off into an inquisitive silence as he came to stand behind his own chair at the conference table and glared over at the unpowered member of the board.

"We have noticed that the agents can communicate with one another in some fashion." Doctor Mother partially confirmed as she began thinking things through. "The phenomenon behind the 'group trigger' phenomenon. I cannot confirm at this time, but it would be a plausible theory. What point, precisely, are you attempting to convey us to?"

"The agents are… a web, similar to the Internet, originally designed to collect information from what I have been made aware of. A grand and horrible experiment. Unfortunately, like the Internet, there is more than just Scion."

Paul groaned and leaned on his chair with his elbows so he could bury his face in his hands in shame, and mumbled through them, "So… to get this straight, we have been doing an entity's bidding for them with Cauldron. We have been helping to drive humanity into the dirt instead of actually fixing the problem."

Pressing one of the preset buttons on the table before her, Contessa engaged the screen behind her, letting the figures show themselves. Reductions in crime, recruitment of parahumans, and other statistics that showed the improvement under many Cauldron-backed activities. "We have been improving things. Just not enough to decisively protect us against what is to come."

"But we're still been working for an entity without knowing." Rebecca interjected as she stood behind her own chair. Given what Contessa had been saying so far, she was willing to trust the slight thinker power she possessed about as far as she could flick it. But, at the same time, she could come to many of the same conclusions that it was helping to feed her.

Contessa shook her head, as did the moth atop Contessa's hat. "No, not an entity. If only we were so lucky." She clicked the mouse to trigger the next slide, calling up a mosaic of the Titans, with a long-lost mural centerfold behind her. "Something that has been with us since time immemorial. I am not certain of his relationship to the entities, only that he can… hack into shards that weren't properly secured by being deployed, and likely views the Entities as his rivals in destruction."

"Not this claptrap," Doctor Mother piped up as she decided she had had enough. "Not here, not now. I can see what's going on. I'm afraid that Contessa has suffered a breakdown from the stress and is falling back on old religion. Her tribe-" "Our Tribe." "They worshipped Mothra, and the other Titans after Rodan decided to make this island back before they were wiped out."

Contessa began to grin somewhat smugly as the moth atop her head crossed its forelegs. None of the others noticed, but Rebecca felt a need to sit down as she began paying closer attention, cataloging what she could remember of it doing. Reacting, out of sync with Contessa. Not leading her or reacting to her; reacting to the group as a whole separately. Looking right back at—it was intelligent, and sizing her up, Rebecca realized with a bit of concern. The-Doctor Mother had called it a Shobijin Moth-nodded slightly, then looked down at its perch and the body language shifted. Almost like a smile, somehow.

Doctor Mother scowled deeper as she caught sight of Contessa's growing smile, barking a rebuke, "Why are you smiling? You have to know you're not well. They are not gods, they-"

Contessa raised a hand, stopping Doctor Mother as an invisible pressure entered the room. "No, 'gods' is not quite the correct term for them but works as an effective shorthand. They 'merely' correctly predicted the spot in which the Thinker would land a decade beforehand, creating the very caldera in which we and her corpse now rest. They 'merely' intentionally gathered people from around the world to train me and my sister of choice-you amongst that number, crossing the Atlantic in a roman-style vessel-to prepare me for the role. They 'merely' coordinated between themselves, entirely unlike the mere beasts you claim that they are. Gojira, Rodan, Gamera, and Mothra were all present that day. Almost certainly as backup in case I failed."

David joined in on the verbal melee, stalking around behind Legend. "It very much sounds far-fetched, Contessa."

Rebecca cleared her throat, seeing the pattern that was developing as she decided to break it before it turned into a headache. "The Shobijin, I'm going to guess that they were some form of messenger for Mothra?"

"Mothra is the… well, 'mortal' incarnation of the being behind the Titan Mothra, yes. Mosura, the God-Queen of the Titans and Mother of Life." Contessa confirmed, nodding as she saw Rebecca catching her drift. "But yes, they are indeed her messengers. Her heralds. And she has finally started moving once more."

Paul's masked visage wandered through a variety of emotions after he started to catch on. Recognition, inquisitiveness, shock, horror, shock again, and that most elusive of emotions for them all: hope. "So, you're trying to say that the Titans are-were-organized, and fighting the entities?"

"Are Organized. Are preparing to fight Scion again. And have created a Path to Victory."

David scowled, looking to the others from where he was standing near to Contessa. "The Path you've spent a considerable amount of time during this meeting telling us was unreliable?"

The moth-Mosura?-rolled its eyes… somehow, or at least conveyed the impression of it, at David as Contessa turned around to face him directly. Rebecca could feel something to the air, a tension that was building up in the room and seemingly pressing at every inch. A static sensation, like the aura of Behemoth, tickling at every hair. A weight, like the pressure of the deep ocean or Leviathan's passage adding a tightness to the lungs. A shifting movement unseen, like the presence of something dense enough to shift gravity itself. Well, she should probably do something, because if 'Mosura' decided that David needed to be taught an object lesson, it would probably not end well.

"David, everyone, if I may?" Rebecca interjected again, taking a gamble, "Contessa has used an analogy to the internet to describe the powers. Now then, I am guessing that the Entity Scion would be a malicious DNS?"

"Correct."

Okay, that was good enough. "So, if he's the backbone through which all the agents send and receive data. Making them… the computer nodes in this analogy?" Rebecca was working quickly, jumping ahead even as Contessa nodded. So, the analogy was going along correctly. So what would-

"The agents are meant to study their uses, each collecting data from their use to some end that remains unclear. The Entities remain-"Contessa paused as she consulted—was it the moth on her head, or her power? "Blind spots. I can obliquely look at them now, thanks to modifications to Path to Victory. An artificial second trigger induced to provide a window of opportunity to break into it."

Shouting, arguing, shock and exclaim. Everyone had a different reaction to learning that apparently their ace in the hole had somehow experienced one of the horror stories of the cape world. A bit of hope in there, as well at the revelation that she could get an idea of what was needed to be done.

"So… test subjects," Paul groused in annoyance as the revelations continued to wash over him. "Mice in the maze. Well, even if Scion wasn't planning on killing us all I'd have even more issues with him now."

Rebecca glared at Doctor Mother preemptively, stopping her from interrupting with her remarkably mule-headed skepticism. They were, after all, a world-dominating illuminati fighting a war of superpowers against an alien invasion. The Titans being literal gods of old who had decided to join them, running on some similar system to the entities? You know what? With the history of the world, the weird things, the literal impossibilities of the biology of most of the Titans? Sure, she could go with that.

Verbally venturing out once more, she asked the obvious next question with more confidence. "So, the entities were the backbone servers that tied all the powers together; the powers are effectively individual computer nodes and servers in this analogy. So, what are the Titans, your old gods who have joined in?"

"The old mainframes," Contessa instantly responded after Rebecca finished, looking unnaturally cheerful in the process. "The… supercomputers of the Earths, created in times of need to help regulate things. Which means now regulating and balancing out the powers granted by the entities' agents, taking them over and rebuilding them to no longer be a malignancy to the Earths."

Doctor Mother stopped scowling as the analogy suddenly clarified a few things and raised more questions. "Balance? Across the Earths. Plural."

"Balance. Across all the Earths. Hence why they could see the Entities coming, they could sense the changes being created upon alternate Earths, investigated, and saw them coming," Contessa answered back with confidence. She hit the slide button again, changing the images to show a condensed and brief overview of what had been discussed so far, showing even a disturbingly… genki-faced thumbnail of Contessa herself connected to Mothra with a bright aqua-green line up in the corner. Yet, there were darkened other connections; a black heavily dotted line reaching across to the center of one web, where a thumbnail of the Thinker's corpse with cartoonish, angry 'x's of death were on its eyes; and a faded golden line, extending out in the other direction, off the edge of the image, with a strange cursive font reading 'Here Be Dragons' under and attached to the line. The web was clearly abbreviated, as there was only a handful of capes on each. Scion's side had many capes on it; Jack Slash, the Neverborn King; String Theory; Myrridin was connected with a question mark next to him; others. Eden, cartoonishly spitefully defaced as she was, had the core members of Cauldron attached to her, Manton, and a few of their customers so far. Curiously, Lung was not attached to either, instead being one of the few attached to the scattering of known Titans dotted around the outside of the three-pane image; Glastag Ustain being attached to Mothra alongside Contessa herself; the relatively obscure cape Golem attached to a hand-drawn image of the 'mythical' Titan, Gamera.

Contessa waited for the group to take in the overall state of things before continuing on, "The world cannot remain unchanging. Should we kill Scion tomorrow, what is to say that others will not follow? Even if we terminate every agent, what good would that do next to the harm already done? The world has changed, and those that regulate the changing of the seasons must change with it. That is why they have remained dormant since their 'deaths'."

David interrupted before Rebecca could continue being the other adult in the room, pointing at the—at Mothra's avatar atop Contessa's head. "Right, like we're supposed to believe that. What then? Are we 'surplus to requirements'? Are we just supposed to expect that after everything we get a pat on the back and get told 'good job, now go home'? Is that what you're planning?"

[_Disagreement. Disappointment. Forgiveness. Agents._]

Ow. Rebecca wiped at her eye from the forcefulness of the impossibly dense message. A stinging sensation was present in the corner of her eye, and when she looked at her hand… just a drop of blood. Well, that was rather alarming, that it could affect her in such a manner. Paul was blinking as well, rubbing away the drops from the corners of his own eyes. Doctor Mother similarly was looking alarmed and was slumped slightly in pain. On the other hand, there had been a great deal of information in that burst.

"You forgive us. For keeping humanity alive so far? Are you for real?"

"David—" Rebecca warned as she recognized one of his more volatile moods fully kicking in.

"We're expected to just turn things over to a bunch of creatures with god complexes—"

Contessa shook her head, herself seemingly rather alarmed at David's unexpected reticence. Rebecca watched, wondering if she was trying to find a new path to dealing with him as the thinker answered. "The godhood business is the best analogy. It is not their self-assigned title, just the closest human concept."

"Oh, that's so much better. We're still pawns—"

"Partners. You misinterpreted that part, I think," Paul joined in as he tried to reign David in. "They need a human-side element to help run civilization because they don't seem to 'get' that part of things. And, yes, I'm inclined to believe the moth. She's explained more about how the powers work in this presentation than we've been able to find out with two decades. I'm inclined to believe we finally have a plan." He turned to Contessa expectantly. "We do have an actual plan now, I hope?"

"Manton."

"We're not moving—"

"Manton is the key to understanding what we need to do." Contessa talked over David, not even looking in his direction as the room fell silent again. "The Titans can handle things once it comes to killing Scion, but Manton is the key. What is Manton's power, now?"

Rebecca instantly filled in for them from rote memory. "An invincible remote projection." Wait—Oh. Ooooooooooh, damn.

"An invincible remote projection," Contessa reiterated for the rest of them, slightly smugly. "Taken from the same dangerous batch of source vials that the three of you took. 'Core' vials, would be another term for them."

"I don't see what that has to do with our current probl—" David confusedly responded as he tried to regain control of the situation.

Rebecca suppressed a groan and succinctly filled in the blanks for the non-thinkers of the group. "Scion is not on Earth Bet. His avatar on Bet is a dimensionally linked invincible projection connected to where his actual body is located, likely on an Earth he has somehow hidden from the Titans. Like Manton, who got that core power from 'Eden's corpse there." Rebecca pointed downwards to the Flesh Garden beneath the base.

"Okay, so we—"

Paul interrupted David, knowing the bravado about to emerge from him. "You're not thinking it through. Find a good thinker power that can put points together. I'd wait, but we might be here all day." Well, that was somewhat unusually mean for the New York Blaster. "No amount of firepower we assemble is going to be sufficient. But, if the Titans can understand the network of the powers, then they can learn from Manton and trace the avatar back, jump to Scion's world, and, what…."

Contessa smiled with a surprisingly terrifyingly large smile of pure malice. Atop her hat, Mothra's avatar unsheathed a wicked-looking inch-long stinger dripping some form of venom as it clicked its mandibles threateningly above crossed forelegs. "Then Gojira follows him through the World Between Worlds and has some Fun."

David shut up as Contessa directed her gaze of mayhem in his direction, intimidated.

Well, Rebecca mused, that was a first. The first time she had seen Contessa genuinely gleeful about things, the first time for many emotions. A first time for being a human nightmare with just a look instead of saying something against all sense of morality. Hell, it was the first time she had been—human, for lack of any better word. Hang on.

"Contessa," Rebecca began to get a sinking feeling she wasn't going to like the answer she would get. The loose end was nagging at her even still. "I know we moved on past this earlier, but what-who-'hacked' your agent?"

Mothra's avatar, the Shobijin, began glowing a dark magenta as it angrily vibrated. Contessa closed her eyes and visibly shook with clear signs of terror. When she spoke, into the suddenly dead-silent room, the lights darkened slightly as a chill that Rebecca couldn't mentally explain sapped the life from the air. "Not past tense, currently trying to get back in again. I don't dare say his name."

"Can't, or W-"

"CAN'T, DAVID!" Contessa outright roared as she slammed her hands down from where she had slowly been raising them up to self-hug. She panted, visibly distressed as she tried to calm herself down. "I can't say his name. He-I use the term loosely-has a thinker power that lets him know where his name was said. Do NOT attract his attention. He is the One Who is Many; the Devil with Three Tongues; the Golden Doom; The Deadly Morningstar."

Paul scooted back, pressing against his chair as he whispered. "Wait, we have to worry about Satan now? Oh _fuck_ me."

"No, he just inspired the watered-down concept. And, I thought I wasn't your type."

Another awkward silence reigned. "Did she just sass me?"

"Better than actively thinking about him. The good news is that the rest of you should be safe for the moment. Your defenses were raised by the process of causing your triggers. But he can theoretically master any cape with few to no signs."

David scowled once more after recovering from being yelled at by Contessa. "And we don't want this force involved, despite being a threat to Scion because—"

"He is a threat I would work with Scion, all cards laid on the table, to fight." Contessa proclaimed to the room, stilling it even further than her previous outburst. "Scion is working by rote routine. HE is far crueler than the worst excesses of Scions pawns. He just wanted Scion out of the way so he could pick all the Earths apart himself. Scion's presence has accidentally opened the door wider for a far worse threat to follow."

David nodded, quiet this time. Silence oppressively filled the cracks of every corner of the room; weighing down on the inhabitants, pressing against them, tangibly there to the point where a dull brick could cut it. A light flashed on David's outfit, the long-range beacon signaling that there was a situation back in his home district, blinking until he noticed it. "Alright then. We'll do it your way, Contessa. If you'll excuse me. Door, My Quarters."

Time passed in the wake of the unreal door closing behind the troublesome member of the group. Silent, frankly terrified, bewildered and overwhelmed time. Paul pointed his thumb at where David had vanished, looking to Contessa with worry. "Is he going to be alright?"

"I still can't properly 'see' him. Best guess is 'yes.' In time. It's a bit much, but skulking around and doling out the truth piece by piece would have led to more issues," Contessa non-committed in response. Rebecca could see right through her. The formerly opaque thinker had given away tell after tell in opening up, and she was transparent at long last. Worry, and uncertainty.

Rebecca looked to Paul, reading him like an open book as well. Her old friend was grappling with the cape-storm of revelations. It was almost as much of a struggle as the day he had started learning the truth about Scion. On the other hand, there was something about him, a calm willingness to listen and be there. She had been planning on cutting him out of the loop for the more sensitive matters due to his unwillingness to compromise on moral issues. Then David had decided to let his pride get in the way. It was a variable, but a workable one. Things were different.

Paul groaned once more as he slowly pressed his face into his hands again and kept pressing until the tips of his fingers brushed against his hairline so he could rub at his forehead. "So, if the Titans can handle Scion, but need time to figure out how to get to him through Manton's example, how long do we have to keep the current situation going?" He mumbled through his hands as he tried to figure out the butcher's bill of their actions so far.

"A decade," Contessa ventured, then pondered. "Perhaps somewhat more. There are four that I know of active. One is busy containing certain capes; one is regenerating; Mothra is rebuilding herself to help take over after Scion, and one will be coming, oh, shortly." Her lips twitched from their neutral position back into a ghost of a grin for a moment. "Watch Japan."

"Which one?" Paul asked, afraid that he might hear-

"Rodan."

The angriest fire chicken in the world. Lovely. The posterchild for the return of the titans. It would be a PR disaster and a half. Wait—Rebecca looked up to the screen, seeing the cape attached to Rodan's 'network.' Oh. Oh, that was somehow even worse.

"Don't worry. It will be surprisingly… targeted. It is part of why it will take so long for most of the downed Titans to return. A new age requires a new approach, and a new way of looking at the world."

"Was that what a Trigger Event feels like?" Doctor Mother inquired between groans as she came to. "The last thing I remember was a host of voices all talking at once, and—Is my nose bleeding?"

Rebecca shook her head. "Yes and no. Contessa can explain."

The cape was walking backwards, having produced a disturbingly large-caliber sniper rifle from somewhere and was checking it over. "It will have to wait. I am afraid that a critical set of steps on the Path just emerged. If you will excuse me—Door, Elisburg." A doorway into unreality and back out again slithered open behind the thinker, and then she and her companion were gone, but not before a distant roar of anger in the distance over the rooftops of a suburban town could be heard.

"Did she just duck out on me? Wait—Interesting map of capes. I recognize most of them, though I'm not certain who this blond woman is."

Rebecca stopped, looking up as a new mugshot of a blond PRT trooper appeared in the top-left corner of the map, next to one of the most haunting images of a Titan ever taken. The angry mugshot of the 'king,' filled with static and a maw opened wide to blast the position of the photographer as ionized blue filled the throat. Gojira. Godzilla. The titan too goddamned angry for even Scion to properly kill.


End file.
